


SF 111: Time Travel, Genetic Experiments, and the Family Unit in Deep Space

by katiemariie



Category: Farscape
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, F/M, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, Kid Fic, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Post-Canon, Time Travel, challenge: Queer Big Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-30
Updated: 2012-08-30
Packaged: 2017-11-13 05:24:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiemariie/pseuds/katiemariie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Peacekeeper Wars, Aeryn and John's domestic boredom is interrupted by Scorpius' arrival with a fresh revenge plot, a newly-purchased Stark (with mysterious new powers), doubts about the paternity of Grayza's child, and, of course, Braca. They quickly begin an adventure that will change all of their lives forever. Meanwhile, John has to reconcile his Human hang-ups about gender and sexuality with a distant part of the universe where queerness is universally accepted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. More of the Usual

**Author's Note:**

> Contains mentions of past non-con.
> 
> Written for [Queer Big Bang](http://queer-bigbang.livejournal.com/profile).
> 
> A big thank you to my beta and fanmixer, subluxate. You can see the fanmix, [a redemptive power, it takes real heart](http://gonerunningaway.dreamwidth.org/15630.html).

_"All right. Everything is gonna be okay. Do you know why? Because we're done. We're checking out... Finito! Next Ferengi we see, we run. No questions later. From this moment on, my one concern, my life is you and our baby.”_  
—John Crichton, _The Peacekeeper Wars_

–

 

John stretched in his chair, feeling his already slack muscles relax.

“Are you bored?” Aeryn asked, reassembling her pulse rifle for what had to be the billionth time.

“Bored? No. This is contentment.” Right, contentment. “We've got the life we've always wanted.” Minus a few of their friends. “No evil empire gunning for us, Scorpius outta my head, D's growing like a weed. It's perfect... Are _you_ bored?”

Aeryn paused ever so slightly as she locked in the firing chamber. “No. Of course not. I'm happy. You're happy.” 

“Pilot's happy. Moya's happy. Everyone's happy.”

“Exactly.”

“Happy, happy.”

“Happy.”

Pilot came over John's comm. “We are now passing through an uncharted dark nebula. If you look out a treblin side porthole, you can see a cold star being born as we speak!” _Ladies and gentleman, this is your pilot speaking. We are now flying over the Mississippi River. If you look out your window..._

“That's great, Pilot,” John responded flatly. Part of him was amazed that he could be so cavalier about the wonders of the universe, but another part of him was just sick of being asked to look out the window every five minutes.

“Moya and I are very appreciative of this opportunity to venture into deep space. We had always hoped that we would see stellar phenomena unobserved by sentient life, but seeing it with you has enriched the experience beyond our imagination.”

John sighed and craned his neck back to face the treblin porthole. “She really is a beaut.”

“That she is, commander.”

Crichton turned off his comm.

Aeryn smirked. “Are you sure you're not bored?”

“I'm sure.”

“So, if Rygel sent us a transmission, asking us to stop a rebellion on Hyneria Prime, you would—”

“I would say, 'Hey, sorry, Sparky, but me and the missus are on the straight and narrow from here on out.'”

“The straight and narrow?”

“From here on out.”

“Right. We'll see how long that lasts.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You have a particular talent in getting yourself in trouble.”

“Whoa, you say that like I'm the only adrenaline junkie around here.”

“Technically, you are.”

“Yeah, well, nah-nah-nah-nah-nah.”

Aeryn cracked a smile, wide and open on her face. “You're not even saying words anymore.”

“I'll have you know, 'nah-nah-nah-nah-nah' is a very precise and eloquent comeback on the playgrounds of—”

“Officer Sun,” Pilot said over Aeryn's comm, “Moya is receiving a distress signal.”

“That's never good,” John muttered. He and Aeryn rose from their seats and took off toward command.

“All the way out here?” Aeryn asked.

“Yes,” Pilot said. “It's coming from another Leviathan.”

“Definitely not good.”

“Despite our past experiences, Moya and I are reluctant to ignore a call for help.” And to lay on the guilt a little thicker... “You said we could go wherever we desired.”

Aeryn looked to Crichton. He shrugged. “Right. Maneuver in close enough to scan for other vessels and weaponry.”

“Understood. Prepare for starburst.”

As Moya lurched into starburst, Aeryn opened the door to command. (Although D was only a few months old, they had already gotten into the habit of closing off unsafe areas of the ship. But with the way the DRDs doted on the kid, his parents could be reasonably sure he wouldn't get himself into trouble no matter where he was aboard Moya.) Once they left starburst and the stars faded back in, she could see the Leviathan far in the distance.

“The Leviathan is alone and unarmed,” Pilot reported. “However, I am detecting a peculiar energy signature aboard the ship. Hold on, I am receiving a transmission.”

An all-too-familiar face appeared on the view screen. “Hello, John Crichton.”

“Pilot,” Aeryn called, “starburst immediately.”

“I thought you might say that.” Scorpius nodded to someone offscreen and Stark was shoved into the frame, bound and gagged. Scorpius smiled.

–

Minutes later, Stark and Scorpius, accompanied by his constant shadow, Braca, were standing in Moya's transport hangar. Neither Scorpius nor Braca were exactly wilting under the crosshairs of Aeryn and Crichton's pulse rifles.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn't shoot you both,” John demanded.

Scoprius and Braca smirked at one another. “I can give you more than one,” Scorpius said.

“You know, Scorpy, there's not a whole lot you can say that can make up for chasing me, putting dren in my head, killing my friends, and _kidnapping Stark_.”

“Crichton, you're misunderstanding the situation entirely. I didn't kidnap Stark. He's rightfully ours. We purchased him at auction.”

Braca held out a holographic orb projecting Stark's pink slip.

“This isn't making me want to shoot you less.”

“Come now, Crichton. Braca and I rescued him from a life of pain and misery. We paid handsomely in a bidding war with a Zanetan pirate. You know how treacherous they can be.”

Stark managed to work off his gag. “You idiots didn't rescue me! That was my wife you outbid!”

“Wait, wait.” Crichton turned to Stark, putting the whole shooting people business on hold. “Your wife? It's been two monens. When did you get married?”

“It's been two monens for you, yes. But my love and I were trapped together for three cycles on a time bubble in the temporal springs of Natagahi.”

John hadn't noticed until then, but Stark's face seemed more healed-over than Aeryn had described. “How did you get recaptured? I thought you were free. That was one of my demands.”

Braca snickered. “Crichton, you can't free a Banik.”

“The Scarrans ceded their claims on me,” Stark explained. “Once I left Moya, I was fair game to be captured by anyone.”

“So whoever could grab you would own you? Finders keepers losers weepers?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus Christ!” Crichton waved his rifle in the air. “What is the matter with you people?” This was directed not so much at Stark but as at this side of the Milky Way.

“Who captured you?” Aeryn asked. “The Charrids? Hynerians? Nebari?”

“No, no. It was all a ruse,” Stark said. “I allowed myself to be captured so that my wife could purchase me at auction. That way she could establish official ownership and no one could enslave me while I was in her possession.”

“You were going to let your wife _own_ you?” Crichton asked incredulously. “That sounds about as good for your marriage as getting tattoos of each other's names.”

Stark looked self-consciously at his shoulder before snapping his gaze back up to Crichton. “We had to do it. It was the only way that our baby wouldn't be born an unclaimed slave.”

“Doesn't the baby follow the condition of the mother?”

“No, not for Baniks. The baby follows the condition of the enslaved parent, but there's a loophole.” Stark seemed to recite the next part, “A Banik child conceived of slave and master can be declared free in perpetuity providing it is born while the slave-parent is possessed by the master-parent... That was our plan, but now...”

“You belong to Scorpy and Braca,” John finished.

“And your baby, when it is born,” Aeryn said, “would belong to them as well.”

“Not unless we hurry,” Scorpius said. “Braca and I wish to transfer ownership to you at the nearest notary. You can then return him to his wife. Or not. Whatever you wish.”

“Why?” Crichton asked. “Why are you doing this?”

“Crichton, did it ever occur to you that I simply happened upon Stark in the auction and decided to reunite a poor Banik with his friends, my former comrades?”

“No,” Aeryn and John spat.

“Very well. Might I suggest we adjourn to some place more comfortable?”

–

While John was opposed to having D on the same ship let alone the same room as Scorpius, Aeryn's plan seemed to be working. Braca was staring straight ahead at the wall, sweating bullets like the drill sergeant from _Full Metal Jacket_ found a donut in his footlocker. Scorpy looked about as rattled as John had ever seen him, barely meeting Aeryn's eye. And, as for D, well, he was just enjoying getting fed.

“Why?” Crichton asked. “Straight, no chaser. What do you want from us?”

“Braca and I require additional security in order to steal a package from the Peacekeepers.”

“Where is it?” Aeryn asked.

“The nearest Peacekeeper base,” Scorpius said, staring at her hairline, “which, coincidentally, contains the nearest notary.”

“Coincidentally.”

“After the package has been retrieved, we require someone to look after it... It has the potential to be incredibly dangerous.”

“What is it?”

“An infant.”

“A baby!” John exclaimed. “You want us to help you steal a baby?”

“And then raise it.”

“If this baby is so damn important to you, why don't you raise it?” John could not believe for a second that he was suggesting Scorpius raise a baby.

Scorpius chuckled. “We want to steal the baby, not keep it.”

“What's so special about this baby?” Aeryn asked.

“It's mother is Mele-On Grayza.”

“You're sick,” Aeryn spat. “You'd steal an innocent child from its mother just to feed your obsession with revenge. I won't have a part in that.”

Braca managed to look at a spot on the wall closer to Aeryn. “Not all Sebacean children have the unseemly attachment to maternity as you. Of course, not all of us were kissed goodnight by our fahrbot mothers.” He sniggered. “Don't be so surprised; we've all seen the recording.”

Aeryn glared at him dangerously. “We all can't have the flawless maternal genetics as yourself. Tell me, is that why your breeding experiment was discontinued?”

Braca glowered at her before being overwhelmed by discomfort at the sight of her and D'Argo.

“Whatever.” John waved his hands. “Clearly, keeping mom and baby together is important. From what I hear, kids who get stolen from their moms end up a little off.” He smiled at Scorpius.

Scorpius barely suppressed a growl—he was obviously losing his touch. “I have heard much the same about children whose mothers die of diseases entirely curable if not for the primitiveness of their—”

“Do not bring my mom into this!”

Stark erupted from his chair. (Frankly, John had kind of forgotten he was there.) “My mom, your mom! His mother, her mother! Banik children are stolen from their mothers before their eyes can even open. The same fate may soon befall my own child, but you choose to squabble like children and—and,” his eyes flicked toward Aeryn, “flaunt the one thing a Banik mother is never permitted to do. I pity myself for having my fate in your hands once again.” Stark backed into the corner of the room and muttered quietly to himself.

“Right.” John coughed. “You were saying?”

“This child is not normal,” Scorpius said. “In a few years, it could destroy the galaxy.”

“What's wrong with it?”

Scorpius struggled to put this delicately. “The paternity of Grayza's child is in question.”

“No.” John shot out of his chair, out of the room, and down the corridor, “No, no, no, no, no...”

“Crichton,” Scorpius called, “be reasonable.”

John whirled around. Great, everyone had followed him. “No!” He jabbed Scorpius in the chest.

“Listen to—”

“This is not happening. You—you do not get to come to my house, kidnap my friends just to frell with my head!”

“I am not frelling with your head.”

“So, you've got proof. DNA scans in triplicate?”

“No.”

“Then buh-bye.” John waved and stalked off.

“I have a spy in Grayza's household. According to her, the child's Peacekeeper ident mark does not match Grand Chancellor Maryk's.”

John turned and stomped toward Scorpius. “Peacekeeper ident mark? Now you're just making dren up.”

“I am not. All Sebaceans bred to be Peacekeepers are born with small mark on their skin which enables easy identification of their breeding.”

“Okay. Prove it.”

“Fine. Braca.”

Braca stepped forward and unzipped his... “Whoa! What is—” Clearly unashamed of nudity, Braca's pants dropped to the floor. “I don't know what you're doing, man, but the underwear stays on.” Braca pulled down the band of his briefs, revealing his left hipbone. “Okay. And?”

Scorpius stood behind Braca, wrapping his right arm around his waist, tapping a small mark on Braca's hip. John did not see Braca shiver when Scorpy's breath hit his ear. “The Peacekeeper ident mark.”

Against his better judgment, John kneeled down to get a better look. The mark wasn't completely formless but it was no barcode. He leaned in closer, straining his human vision.

“Should Stark and I leave you three to yourselves?” Aeryn asked.

“What?” His face was in Braca's crotch. He yipped and fell backward onto his ass. “You can put your pants back on.” John scrabbled to his feet. “If all Peacekeepers have one of those, where's Aeryn's?”

Aeryn adjusted D in his sling before undoing her pants one-handed. Like Braca, she was not ashamed of her naked body. Unlike Braca, she wasn't wearing underwear. (They'd been a little behind on laundry since D was born.) She pointed to the sweet spot on her hip—the same spot where Braca's mark was located.

“I thought that was a birthmark.”

“It is.” Aeryn pulled up her pants. “D'Argo has one, too.”

John lifted D out of his sling and slid down his nappy. A mark—tiny but clear as day.

“I would show you mine...” Scorpius started.

“I'm good.” He handed D back to Aeryn.

“If the child's mark is inconsistent with Grand Chancellor Maryk's, then the child could be yours. I don't need to explain to you what that means,” Scorpius said. “The child is also a female. She will no doubt have Grayza's talent for persuasion.”

John let that sink in. “I can't.” He shook his head. “I can't do this.” He turned and walked away.

Scorpius was quick to go after him, but Aeryn grabbed his arm. “Let him go. He needs time.”

“Fine.” Scorpius brushed her hand away. “What do you suggest we do while he takes his time?”

“I'm certain Stark and I will be able to think of something.”

–

The door to Scorpius' old cell swung close. “Don't bother trying to escape,” Aeryn said. “We've strengthened the lock since you'd last been in here.”

“How long do you plan on keeping us here?” Braca asked.

“Indefinitely.”

“You could simply allow us to return to our vessel,” Scorpius said.

“You'd want to take Stark with you.”

“Of course.”

“Then no. I'm not leaving you alone with him and I'm not giving you free rein on Moya. You can stay in here until John's ready to talk.”

“You aren't concerned about our entertainment? I am a very dangerous person when bored.”

“I thought of that.” She tossed a small cube into the cell. Braca, ever the Peacekeeper, caught it. “A field training exercise. Manipulate it so that each side is all one color. Have fun.” Walking away from the cell, she asked Stark, “Are you sure we shouldn't separate them?”

“I wouldn't bother.”

–

John paced to and fro in Moya's starburst chamber with only 1812 to keep him company. “I wanna be there,” he muttered. “I wanna be there for my kid.”

“ _Then why don't you?_ ” he asked, affecting Scorpy's accent.

“I can't. I can't stand to think about it. I snorted half of the old woman's medicine cabinet trying to forget.”

“ _You said that was to help forget Aeryn._ ”

“Yeah, well...”

“ _You can't lie to me, John._ ”

“You're in my head. I can do whatever I want.”

“ _I'm not in your head any longer._ ”

“Right. Good job abandoning your post, Harv.”

“ _If I remember correctly, you wanted me gone._ ”

“Yeah, after you betrayed me to Scorpius. What happened to being on my side? He might have put you in there, but I carried you in my head for three cycles. I gave you life!”

“ _And for that I am eternally grateful. But now it's time to put on your big boy pants and reclaim your progeny!_ ”

“I don't know if it's even my kid.”

“ _Think, John. Why would Grayza carry the child to term if it were neither yours nor the Grand Chancellor's? She wants your wormhole knowledge. You know if the Scarrans could extract intelligence from DNA, the Peacekeepers aren't far behind._ ”

“She won't try to develop wormhole weapons. I showed her and the Scarrans what they do.”

“ _You did, but quite unintentionally. You say wormholes weapons would bring total destruction, but you've used wormhole weapons before. You only destroyed one Scarran Stryker._ ”

“We're at peace. They don't need weapons.”

“ _Don't think for a microt that Grayza returned to her command carrier with visions of peace and sugar-plums dancing in her head. As soon as she signed that treaty, she was thinking up ways to break it!_ ”

“What about the Eidolons? They've had months—”

“ _Eidolons, schmeidolons! Grayza will—_ ”

“Crichton,” Stark asked, stepping into the chamber, “are you alright?”

“Jesus!” John nearly jumped out of his skin. “I'm fine. I... just... I was just talking to myself.”

“I understand.”

“Of course, you understand.” He collapsed into a sit. “Do you ever miss having voices in your head?”

“Sometimes.” Stark sat down next to John. “Only certain voices.”

“Which ones?”

“You, my brothers, Zhaan.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to take that away from you.”

“I know. All of our actions have consequences beyond our imagination.”

“Sometimes I think everyone would have been better off if I got liquefied in that first wormhole.”

“Yeah. Probably.”

That wasn't the comfort John had expected. “You'd still be rotting in Scorpy's Gammak base if I hadn't come along.”

“I've lost so much and accrued a lifetime's worth of sorrow since leaving there. Perhaps having nothing was better than losing everything.”

“You have a wife now and a baby on the way.”

“My baby will be born a slave.”

“That's better than never existing.”

“John, you don't understand. You've never been... Do you remember that book you read in your college literature class? The one about the woman who walked out of the water.”

“How do you know what I read in college? I don't know what I read in college.”

“The voices may be gone, but I remember what they said.”

“Right. The woman who walked out of the water.”

“She was a ghost in Ohio.”

“Okay.”

“Her skin was darker than yours.”

“Oh, right. The really sad book about slavery.”

“Yes.”

“What does that have to...” Oh. “You'd kill your baby if you thought she was going to be enslaved.”

Stark nodded solemnly.

“We'll get you back to your wife, okay? I promise.”

–

Scorpius attempted meditation, but it eluded him in a room filled with so many memories. There was nary a surface in this cell upon which he and Sikozu hadn't recreated at least twice. It was best not to dwell on such thoughts lest Braca catch on and try to start another awkward conversation about it. Better to let him play with that cube. “Have you still not found a solution?” Scorpius asked, his tone lightly mocking.

“Not the most efficient one, sir.”

Scorpius enjoyed being called 'sir,' almost as much as Braca enjoyed calling someone 'sir'. “You could simply remove the stickers and apply them to appropriate side.”

Braca looked properly scandalized. “That's not the intended purpose of the exercise.”

–

John walked the corridors with 1812 at his side. “I don't know, buddy, I don't know.” Aeryn appeared before him at the junction where tiers eight and nine met. “Hey.”

“Hey. How are you doing?”

“Better, I guess. You ever talk to Stark? Like really talk to the guy?”

“No, most of the conversations I have with him, he's either yelling or simpering.”

“He is sad. When you chip away at the crazy, it's just layers and layers of sorrow. I feel kinda dirty now.”

“I take it he came and talked to you.”

“Yeah. Apparently, if we don't help Scorpius, Stark is gonna go all Toni Morrison and murder his baby.”

“He told you that?”

“Yeah.”

“Was he lying? You know he lies.”

“No, it wasn't a lie. It was the sorrow.”

“John, don't think you have to go through with it because Stark threatens infanticide.”

“I know. I... If it's my kid, I wanna be a part of her life no matter how she was conceived. It'll be hard as hell to have a little half-Grayza running around, but I can't let my kid be groomed by Grayza to be a... a...”

“Rapist.”

“Yeah.”

“And if she's not your child?”

“Then... I don't wanna raise Grayza's and some other guy's kid.”

“So it would be okay for her to be groomed by Grayza?”

“No, but... stealing babies is highly frowned upon in my culture. Stealing somebody else's babies? That's...”

“An even more severe facial expression.”

“Right. And who knows? If it's not mine, maybe the kid's real father will come along later and steal her.”

“Don't hold your breath.”

“Aeryn, are you okay with...?”

“I'm okay with whatever you decide. If you want to steal the baby, I'm there. If you want to keep her, D'Argo would love a sister. If you want to tell Scorpius to go frell himself with a qualta blade...”

John smiled. “I know my classy lady would always support that.”

–

Stark hefted himself onto the perch by Pilot's console, settling in and hugging his knees to his chest. “Hello, Pilot.”

“Stark.” Pilot inclined his head.

“How has the universe been?”

“Very interesting. Moya and I have compiled a large collection of images, if you would like to see them.”

“No.” Stark held up a hand. “Perhaps another time. I have little appreciation for beauty at the moment.”

“Moya and I heard about your situation. We sympathize.”

“Of everyone, I figured you would...” Stark swallowed. “I regret that I wasn't there to pass Talyn. We were close.”

“You were his pilot.”

“Yes... We both knew what it was like for people to think we were fahrbot. In the end, we both knew what it was like to die for those people.”

“What was it like?” Pilot asked quietly.

“Peaceful. Very serene. Apart from being disintegrated into a frillion pieces. I would do it again, but not now. I have to stay alive.”

“For your baby.”

“Yes.” Stark stroked his scar, almost like he was petting it. “Zhaan told me I couldn't die until I fulfilled my purpose.”

“She said that when she was dying?”

“No, no. After.”

“After she was dying,” Pilot said slowly.

“Yes, after I left Moya, she called me to Natagahi. I could no longer hear the voices of the dead, but hers called to me like a trelkez watching its brother be decapitated.”

“She was upset, then.”

“No, no. She was blissful. Trelkez have a very well developed sense of schadenfreude.”

“She called you to Natagahi...”

“Yes, yes. She called me to Natagahi and moments before I stepped on a time bubble that would entrap me and my future beloved for three rapturous cycles—”

“Stark, the temporal anomalies of Natagahi are well-established as a hoax.”

“Then how did three cycles pass for me and my wife and only a sixth of a cycle for the rest of the universe?”

“I don't know. Did you drink the water?”

“No, I didn't drink the water! There are time pxiz in the water. Everyone knows that. My stomach acid would burn them alive.”

“Time pxiz,” Pilot said flatly.

“Yes, time pxiz.”

“I see.” Pilot gathered his patience. “What was it that Zhaan said?”

“Oh, yes. Before I stepped on a time bubble, Pa'u Zotoh Zhaan appeared in front of me, the gentle Natagahi moonlight cascading down her resplendent blue skin, the stars twinkling in the sky bringing out the true gold tones of her chloroplast, the shadows playing across her shape, creating a contrast in her figure that resembled a Delvian spirit painting of the early twelfth century, her—”

“What was she wearing?” Pilot asked dryly.

“She was naked, of course. Everyone's naked when they're dead.”

“Zhaan appeared before you naked...”

“Right. She opened her perfectly symmetrical mouth and said, 'Stark, what happened to your face?' So, I told her what happened. She seemed pleased about it but a little worried like she didn't understand how I could fulfill my destiny.”

“Which was?”

“As Zhaan said, 'You must not join me until you fulfill your destiny. Stark, my dear Stark, you will free your people.'”

“You?”

“Yes.”

“Will free your people?”

“Yes.”

“Did she elaborate?”

“No, she disappeared and I stepped onto a time bubble where I would spend three rapturous cycles—”

“With your beloved. Is it possible Zhaan was joking?”

Stark considered it. “Possibly. I thought it more likely that it was a riddle.”

–

Braca had completed the exercise in a record twenty-four moves when Crichton appeared before their cell. Braca snapped to attention while Scorpius leisurely stood.

“So,” Crichton said, “how do we do this?”


	2. Why Can't Two Guys Just Travel Through Space Together

_“Don't bother searching for surveillance. You're not that important.”_  
—Braca, “Into the Lion's Den, Part 1: Lambs to the Slaughter”

–

“Free range Leviathans have been known to carry their young through starburst—”

“Right. We did it with Talyn before.”

“—however, it remains to be seen whether two mature Leviathans can starburst simultaneously even once, let alone the sequential starbursts required for our trip.” Braca slowed his pace and turned to John, sharply. “Are you listening?”

“Yeah, I'm listening, but none of this makes sense from a biological perspective. How do packs of Leviathan stick together if they can't starburst as a herd?”

Braca looked at John like he was biggest nimrod in the universe—which, admittedly, he might have been. “Leviathans are not pack creatures.”

“Oh.” They rounded the corridor into tier eleven. “Okay, so we stick Moya and Triskel together with duct tape.”

“I'm afraid the adhesive in biomechanoid reparative tape combusts under the high pressure of starburst. Fortunately, Leviathans maintain a vestigial conductor near the tail end, which, if wired correctly, can create a magnetic field activated during starburst. If Moya and Triskel's conductors are oriented to opposite polarities, they will be bound together but kept a safe distance from one another by the mediating starburst energy.”

“Damn, Braca. Sounds like it was you frelling the Leviathan expert and not Scorpy.”

Braca stared at him blankly. “What makes you think we both weren't?”

“Hooo!” John slapped Braca on the shoulder. “I think this buddy cop deal is gonna work out after all. Seriously, though, how'd you figure this out on your own?”

“I am genetically and behaviorally conditioned for excellence.”

“So's Aeryn, but she doesn't know the math like you do. That's tech work.”

“Officer Sun was raised amongst the other members of her unit. I imagine that allowed more time for socialization than personal improvement.”

“And you were raised, what, in captivity?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“That explains so much.” Crichton slowed as they approached the nursery. “Hold on a microt.” Braca stood stock still, hands behind his back, eyes forward while John went in. “Hey, champ,” he cooed, lifting D out of his cradle. “Daddy's going away for a couple of arns, but he'll be right back. Love you.” John placed a kiss on D's forehead and tucked him back in.

As soon as he was back in the corridor, Braca asked, “Can the child speak yet?”

“No. He's barely a sixth of a cycle.” John shuffled down the hall a bit faster. He didn't want to have a curious, baby-stealing Peacekeeper around his kid for any longer than necessary.

“How do you teach it to talk?”

“Who? D?”

“Yes.”

“We talk to him.”

“That's it? There isn't a special program?”

“No. Haven't you ever been around babies before?”

“Non-medics aren't allowed near the youngest Peacekeepers.”

“You people call little babies,” John punched the door opener for the transport hangar, “Peacekeepers?”

The door slid open. Braca waited for John to enter—no doubt part of his training. “That is what they are. We're Peacekeepers from the day we're born until the day we die.”

“Yeah.” John smirked. “Unless you get kicked out.”

“We were not kicked out,” Scorpius said from behind his prowler. “We resigned.”

“Peacekeepers,” Aeryn said, hefting a box of tools, “don't resign. If you try to leave, they execute you.”

“Not if you have the right information about the right people and a mechanism in place to reveal it after your demise.”

Aeryn jammed the box into the backseat of the prowler. “That's it then.”

Braca pulled a small, narrow box from his jacket and handed it off to Aeryn. “Wait for the cartridge to fully exit the vestibule before—”

“I've done it before.”

“Of course.” Braca nodded, backing toward the prowler.

Aeryn grabbed him by the wrist. “If you hurt him, I will ruin you. Understand?”

“Understood.” As soon as Aeryn released him, he was in the prowler.

“John.”

“Aeryn.”

“Take care.”

“I will. Don't worry. I've kicked his ass before, I can kick his ass again.”

–

“So.” John drummed his fingers on the back of Braca's seat. “Scorpy lets you drive.”

“I'm a pilot.”

“Driving Miss Scorpy.” John leaned back in his seat and stretched. Somehow, between morning and then, his muscles acquired a bit of tension. Wonder how that happened.

_“I would have sacrificed you willingly before.” Scorpius' voice was strange almost hollow._

_“I know,” Braca gasped._

_“Things have changed.”_

_“We had a good run, yeah?”_

_“I don't think I'm prepared for this.”_

_“I should have... briefed you.”_

_There was a strangled laugh and then a growl._

“What the hell was that?” John yelled.

“What?”

“Voices in my head! Again!”

“Whose voices?”

“You and Scorpius. God, I have _you_ in my head now?”

Braca muttered one of those Sebacean swear words Aeryn reserved for midnight feedings. He tapped his comm. “Scorpius.”

“Here,” Scorpius said.

“The implant is misfiring again.”

“Implant?” Crichton yelled.

“Relax,” Braca said. “It's not in your head.”

–

John eased the copper coil into place, careful not to rub against the cooling fluid in the next chamber. “That's it. Come on. There you go.” He battened down the seal. “Five through eight done.”

“Sixteen more to go,” Braca murmured.

“So.”

“What?”

“You've got a chip in your head.”

“Two, actually.”

“Is some kinda loyalty thing? You put chips in your head, Scorpius can hear all your thoughts?”

“No. Scorpius and I placed communication devices in our brains as a precaution should we ever be separated.”

“You can talk in your heads.”

“Yes.”

“Oh. I was wondering how you communicated while he was on Moya.”

“Now you know.”

John put down his wrench. “Does Scorpius ever appear to you, you know, in your head, and give you advice? Like a really messed up mash up of your father and Jiminy Cricket?”

“Please stop talking.”

–

Watching Braca fold clothes was almost mesmerizing, like old black and white footage of coke bottling plants. Every movement uniform, precision creases. Braca could have been replaced by a bioloid cycles ago and no one would have noticed. “Does Moya does still have the defense screen from the _Zelbinion_?”

John blinked, shifting his gaze from Braca's hands to his face. “Yeah.”

“We could possibly rewire so that it—”

“—cover both ships. I thought of that. Stretching the screen would only make the gaps in it bigger.”

“We could set up a relay.”

“Like in the I Yensch bracelets.”

“Yes, exactly.”

Maybe working with Braca wouldn't be so bad. “Do you still have them?”

“They're under the bed there.”

Why would Braca keep... “Braca, you dog. I didn't know you had it in you.” John dug the bracelets out from under the bed and flopped onto the neatly made sheets. “So this is where the magic happens. Are you gonna take me to see Scorpy's room or does he just hang upside down in your closet?” John nodded to Braca's closet, one side of which was conspicuously empty. John couldn't even begin to imagine what Scorp would keep in his room. An iron maiden, a couple of pickled budong fetuses, maybe.

“What?”

“Where's Scorpius sleep?”

“Where you're lying.”

John looked from the bed to the I Yensch bracelets in his hand before dropping them to the floor and jumping to his feet. “I, uh...” He scratched the back of his head. “I have to go... to the bathroom.”

“Tier ten, first door on the hammond side,” Braca said, looking a bit confused.

“Right.”

–

“Aeryn, Aeryn, Aeryn.”

“Here. What's wrong? Are you hurt?”

“They're gay, Aeryn. Gay.”

“Where are you?”

“I'm in the bathroom.” God, they probably joined the mile high club in there. “They're gay.”

“Yes, we've established that. Who are we talking about?”

“Braca and Scorpius... He was in my head. He was in my head while I was naked.”

“John.”

“My face was in Braca's crotch and they were spooning.”

“John, listen—”

“Sure, I joked about it, but I didn't think they were actually... Not that there's any anything wrong with that.”

“John!” Aeryn shouted.

“Scorpius is standing right next to you, isn't he?”

“Yes.”

“And he heard everything?”

“Judging by the amused expression on his face, I'd say yes.”

“Right.”

–

When John came back in the bedroom, Braca was still folding clothes (was he planning on moving in?), but his movements were jerky and unrehearsed. Scorpy told him what just happened. Of course. “Are you finished?” Braca snapped.

“Yeah. I...” I'm sorry I was a jackass. I thought that was a private conversation? “Can we never talk about what just happened?”

Braca breezed past him, carrying his bag and the I Yensch bracelets. “I would be content if we never talked at all.”

–

Braca stood silently in the corridor as Crichton packed up Stark's things. There wasn't much. Even aboard Moya, Stark never had many possessions. Guess that came with the territory of being someone's possession. As it stood, everything Stark owned was in that cell: a couple dentics, a few pieces of cloth, some metal scraps, a wooden fork sharpened to a point.

_The cell was humming with the sounds of a living ship at rest. Stark nestled himself into a corner, waiting. Eventually, Braca came in, bringing dinner. At the very least, they fed him well. Stark had been enslaved, imprisoned, and taken hostage enough to know that refusing food out of pride was a fool's errand. So was planning an escape with no weapons and no way to find home, but he had to try._

_Stark swung at Braca with his shiv. He'd hoped to only disable the man, but depth perception came hard to his people. The makeshift blade nicked an artery, sending Braca to the flooring, gasping silently. Stark put pressure on the wound, but there was too much blood. Instinctively, Stark moved to rip off his mask, feeling nothing but scar tissue._

_Owing to Stark's deplorable luck, Scorpius chose that exact moment to check on his prisoner. Stark scuttled away from the body, imagining what kind of torture Scorpius would put him through for this. Much to his surprise, Scorpius simply snapped his neck._

“What the hell?” John gasped.

“Is something the matter?” Braca asked from the door.

“It happened again. Your implant.”

“We weren't speaking.”

“You weren't speaking in my head either. It was like you were playing a damned movie in there.”

“That's impossible,” Braca said dismissively. “The transceiver is wired to the primary auditory cortex, it doesn't receive visual.”

“We need to get back to Moya.”

–

As soon as the hangar repressurized, John was out the prowler, charging toward maintenance bay. “Hey!” he yelled as soon as Scorpius was in sight. “You do something to me?”

Scorpius rolled his eyes. “No, Crichton. Despite what your heterosexual panic may be telling you, I implanted my neural clone to retrieve wormhole knowledge, not to see you naked.”

John knocked the drill out of Scorpius' hand. “How'd you do it, Scorp? Knock me out while no one was looking? Have your butt boy Braca—”

“John,” Aeryn called from the doorway. “What's going on?”

“He put something in my head! Again!”

“I did no such thing,” Scorpius said.

“Then why I am hearing voices and getting visions of you and Braca and Stark?”

“Me?” Stark peeped from behind Aeryn.

“I don't know,” Scorpius said, “but I assure you, I had nothing to do with it.”

“And we're supposed to believe you?” Aeryn asked.

“Yes.”

“I don't what your damage is, Scorpy.” John pulled Winona from her holster. “But I will not let you pull my strings like I'm frelling Pinocchio!”

“Put the gun away, John.”

“No.”

“John, please,” Stark pled. “The notary won't transfer ownership if they believe you killed my owners.”

Crichton sighed, holding Winona up toward the ceiling. “I'm not going to shoot—” Winona went off, hitting a DRD, which promptly fell onto Aeryn's head. “Aeryn!”

Stark felt for a pulse. “She's gone, John. I'm sorry.”

Except not really, because there Aeryn was standing in the doorway in front of Stark while John was staring down Scorpius. “What the frell was that?” Aeryn shouted.

“You saw that?” John asked.

“As did I,” Scorpius said.

Pilot came over the comm. “Officer Sun, I detected a strange energy signature inside the maintenance bay approximately twelve microts ago. It matches my earlier reading from Triskel.”

“It is you, then,” John said, advancing toward Scorpius again.

“Let us not stoop to paranoia,” Scorpius said. “That is what killed Aeryn.”

“No, what killed Aeryn was the chip you—”

“Crichton,” Stark cut in.

“What?” John snapped. “Sorry.”

“It wasn't Scorpius. It was me.”

“You?”

“Yes.” Stark wrung his hands. “Ever since my face closed, I've experienced flashes of the future. Someone always dies... I think it's an extension of being Stykera. I didn't know anyone could see them along with me until now.”

“And you didn't think of telling anyone about this?”

“No. I wasn't certain if I was truly seeing the future or... going fahrbot again.”

“Did you ever have vision where you killed Braca?” John asked. Stark shook his head nervously. “You slit his throat and Scorpius snapped your neck?”

“Maybe,” Stark said feebly. “I was only trying to escape.” He smiled anxiously at Scorpius. “I wouldn't do it again. I would never hurt Braca.”

Scorpius scowled. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you—”

Braca marched in. “Triskel said there was an energy dist—” He stopped mid-stride next to Stark, his eyes glazing over.

“What's the matter with him?” Aeryn asked, waving a hand in front of Braca's face.

“He seems to be in a trance of some sort.” Stark poked Braca's temple. “Or having a seizure.”

Braca gasped. “Frell!” His eyes boggled at the sight of Aeryn. “You were dead.”

“Did a DRD fall on my head?” Aeryn asked.

“Yes. Crichton's pulse pistol shot it down.” He rubbed right above his ear. “I think my implant is migrating.”

“It isn't your implant,” John said. “The same thing happened to me on Triskel and in your prowler. When Stark sees the future—”

“Sometimes I just hear the future,” Stark interrupted.

“Right. When Stark sees or hears the future, it lingers in the room, I guess. You walk in, you see the vision. Or hear it. I don't know. I'm a scientist, not a fortune teller.”

“What are we going to do about this?” Braca asked.

Aeryn thought for a moment. “We should probably tape off this area so we don't keep bumping into the vision and, in general, try not to die in Stark's presence.”


	3. Everybody Hates Box Boy

_“Sometimes, what brings the kids together is hating the lunch lady. Although that’ll change. Because, by the end of the fourth grade, the lunch lady was actually the person I hung out with the most.”_  
—Michael Scott, “The Merger,” _The Office_

– 

They didn't tell you this in the owner's manual, but consecutive starbursts were not advised for Leviathans with infants and Peacekeeper sycophants with sensitive stomachs.

Scorpius shouted over D's wails, “Can you stop him from crying?”

“No,” Aeryn yelled. “Can you stop him from puking?”

“Somebody please fetch Braca a bucket?” John asked. “Good god, man, how much did you eat today?”

“It reeks of votch in here. Pilot,” Aeryn commed. “Return to hetch drive until we can calm our infants.”

“No, no,” Stark protested, rushing toward Aeryn. “We must hurry. My love is due to—” Stark slipped on Braca's vomit like it was a banana peal, falling backwards to the ground. His head hit the deck with a loud thwack.

“Geez.” John braved the puke smell to check on Stark. “You okay?” He shook Stark's arm. “Buddy?” He felt for a pulse. “He's dead.” He glared up at Braca. “You killed him with your puke!”

Except not really.

“—til we can calm... Did anyone else see that?”

Everyone nodded.

Aeryn shrugged. “Pilot, return to hetch.”

“No, no.” Stark carefully dodged the vomit that time. “We have to hurry. My wife could go into labor any microt!”

“Fine.” Aeryn blinked. “Pilot, begin starburst.”

“Beginning starburst.”

They felt the familiar lurch into starburst (at least Braca's stomach did) before unceremoniously crashing into the treblin side bulkhead.

Except not really.

“—til we can ca—”

“What was that?” Pilot screeched in the clamshell.

“You saw that, too?” Stark asked.

“Yes! The magnetic pull between Triskel and Moya overpowered the energy of starburst. We crashed! Everyone died! What is happening?”

“Uh, yeah,” Crichton said. “Stark can see the future when... It's a long story. If it happens again, don't freak out.”

Pilot murmured something in Pilot that caused Scorpius to chuckle.

“Do you need any of us to take a look at the vestigial conductor?” Aeryn asked.

“Not on Moya. Triskel has determined the malfunction is in her conductor.”

“I'll supervise repairs,” Scorpius said, “considering that Braca is indisposed.” Scorpius left command for Triskel.

“I helped,” Stark said, straightening his collar. “I saved us. And you didn't have to force me this time.”

D stopped fussing, but command still smelled like puke. “God, Stark.” Crichton plugged his nose. “How you can stand to be so close to him? He smells like a frat house.”

“Baniks don't have a sense of smell. It was removed through genetic manipulation so we'd be better able to work in sulphur mines.”

“See, Aeryn.” John pointed at Stark. “Sorrow.” 

A gaggle of DRDs had gathered around Braca, cleaning up his mess and offering him food squares. “What are these?” Braca asked, inspecting the squares with half-lidded eyes.

“Crackers,” John responded. “They'll help with your stomach.”

Braca nibbled on a saltine experimentally.

“Do you normally votch every time Triskel starbursts?” Aeryn asked.

Just as versed in Peacekeeper snideness, Braca retorted, “No, however, Triskel has been maintained much better than most Leviathans. For instance, Triskel has never been burned from the inside out.”

“Come on, _Meeklo_.” John smiled. “A PK pilot doesn't let a little turbulence affect his performance. You were bred and conditioned for excellence.”

Aeryn snorted. “Braca was bred and conditioned for Peacekeeper science.”

“True,” Braca conceded. “Excellence was merely an unintended side-effect.”

“Excellent? You consistently rated below grade in sociality, you let an untrained human kick your arse, and the regiment hated you.”

“Yet, somehow, I managed to be promoted over you.”

“It's no great mystery how that happened. You're the only Peacekeeper to have climbed the ranks on his knees.”

“Don't pretend to know me, Sun.”

“I don't have to pretend anything. Command briefed us before you joined the regiment. Told us you were a valuable genetic experiment raised in isolation, had little affinity for your peers, only knew how to socialize with medics and your superiors, and if you didn't fit into the unit right away, we shouldn't haze you too badly.”

“And judging by the death glare Braca's giving you,” John said, “you guys didn't listen.”

“Of course not. Peacekeeper units always identify the weakest member and harass them. It's good for morale.”

“Humans do that. It's called high school and the nerd they're picking on ends up shooting up the school... or making billions of dollars at Microsoft.” He look over at Braca. “I guess you sorta did both.”

Stark spoke up, hesitant at first, “Did they perchance refer to you as 'Box Boy'?”

Aeryn barked out a surprised laugh straight from the diaphragm. “Box Boy. I'd forgotten about that.”

“Box Boy?” John asked.

“Several of the Peacekeepers I aided into the next life had memories of someone named Box Boy... I don't think they liked him very much.”

“Because he grew up in a box, right.”

“To be fair, John,” Aeryn said, “it wasn't a box; it was a four by four motra cell.”

“Five by six,” Braca muttered.

“Is that why you're...?” John trailed off.

“What?”

“The genetic experiment. Is that why you're... you know. A friend of Dorothy. Why you bat for the other team?”

Braca closed his eyes and inhaled, apparently steeling himself. “Crichton, whenever I am misfortunate enough to spend more than five microts listening to you speak, I get the distinct impression my translator microbes are dying off, because nothing you say makes any sense whatsoever.”

“Fine. Did growing up all isolated make you gay?”

“I don't know. I suppose I was content as any other Peacekeeper child.”

John groaned. “You're—”

Pilot interrupted over the clamshell. “I believe Commander Crichton is trying to ask if you've taken a male lover because of your unique upbringing.”

“Thank you, Pilot.”

“You're welcome, commander. We should be able to resume starburst as soon as Scorpius returns.”

The clamshell flickered off and Crichton looked back over to Braca who didn't look like he was going to answer the question any time soon. In fact, he seemed kind of offended. And so did Stark and Aeryn, even though she'd just been ragging on Braca a few minutes ago. “What?”

“Do your people require social conditioning to engage in homosexual relationships?” Braca asked.

“No. Yeah. It's complicated. Nature versus nurture. We're still trying to figure it out.”

“There are scientific studies being performed to determine this?”

“Yeah. Psychologists, geneticists, endocrinologists, that sort of thing.”

“No wonder your people have never left their solar system.”

“I imagine once the humans resolve this problem, they'll be able to travel much farther,” Stark said optimistically. “The astromonatots wouldn't be as lonely in space... Of course, they could just allow more female astromonatots.”

“What?” John asked. “No, we're not studying this to make people gay—homosexual.”

Stark quirked his head to the side. “Then why would you study it?”

“I don't—”

“Are you trying to get rid of it?”

“No.”

“Then why would you—”

“Because it's not normal,” John snapped. He took a breath and slowed himself down. “Some people—lots of people have a problem with it. Not me. I'm fine with it. I'm cool with, you know, whatever. If someone wants to... it's okay by me.”

“Good.” Aeryn smiled artificially. “Now we can alert the universe that it has John Crichton's permission.”

John sighed. “I'm not giving my permission. I'm expressing my tolerance.”

“If you were tolerant, you wouldn't ask Braca if he recreates with men because he was locked in a box for half his life.”

“I don't know, Aeryn. It was just a question. Weird stuff happens to animals when they're raised in captivity. Look at the pandas, they won't breed in zoos. I just... I thought Peacekeepers would have bred it out a long time ago.”

“Why? What military adva—” Aeryn hushed herself as Scorpius entered, but being Scorpius he still noticed something was amiss.

“Did something happen?”

“Yes. I married a drannit. Pilot, resume starburst. Braca, ready your stomach.”

Moya entered a noticeably smoother starburst and another and another. Braca, not having votched once, gave Scorpius a small smile of appreciation.

“Entering final starburst,” Pilot announced, “in three, two, one.” Nothing happened. “Oh, dear.”

“Oh, dear?” Crichton parroted.

“Pilot, what's wrong?” Aeryn asked.

“We appear to be stuck. Moya and Triskel can neither starburst nor use hetch drive to move in any direction.”

John and Aeryn turned on Scorpius. “What did you do?”

“This isn't my doing,” Scorpius answered.

“You were last person to make any repairs,” Aeryn said.

“Why would I sabotage my own vessel?”

John threw his hands in the air. “Because you're you!”

“Triskel reports that the problem is not mechanical,” Pilot interrupted. “We appear to be caught in a net of some kind.”

“See? I had no part in this, unless you believe I created an interstellar net to capture myself in.”

“No,” Aeryn said, “but you did give us the coordinates.”

“You said the Peacekeepers wouldn't catch onto us if we went through the front door. I don't know what buildings looked like on whatever Scarran science lab you grew up in, but this does not look like a front door to me!” John whipped out Winona. “Who are you working for? The Peacekeepers? They say they'd make your boyfriend admiral if you hand delivered us?”

Braca rolled his eyes. “Crichton, if I wanted to make admiral, I would be an admiral by now.”

“I did not mislead you,” Scorpius said.

“So,” Crichton tapped Winona on Scorpius' chest, “you're not conspiring against us. You're just stupid.”

“My plan was foolproof.”

“Your plan got us trapped! And you know what happens when we get trapped? Do you, Scorp? _We blow up your stuff!_ ”

“Are you threatening me, Crichton?”

“No, I'm threatening him.” John turned his pulse pistol on Braca, who, for his part, mostly looked bored. “Get us out of here, or I blast his frelling head off.”

“No, no no!” Stark shrieked. “This. No. This is bad. This is how it ends. He dies.” Stark pointed to Braca. “You die.” He pointed to Crichton. “She dies.” To Aeryn. “He dies.” To D in his bassinet. “I die.” To himself.

“Did you have a vision?” Aeryn asked.

“No. But I know. This is how it ends. How it always ends. Someone kills Braca. Scorpius kills them. No matter who they are.”

Scorpius and Braca glanced at one another for half a microt before deciding to look anywhere else in the room. Were they _blushing_?

“That is preposterous,” Scorpius practically stammered.

“He's fahrbot,” Braca said quickly.

“Obviously.”

“Of course.”

“It's true,” Stark protested. “I saw it with my own eye. Braca di—”

“Officer Sun,” Pilot said, “I've analyzed the composition of the net and it seems to be a modified form the flax.”

“Great,” John said, holstering Winona. “Now we've been captured by pirates. Nice plan, Scorp.”

Stark smiled wildly at the blue light shimmering outside the observation window. “That's not the Zanetans; that's my wife.”

–

Stark stood anxiously in front of them, hopping from foot to foot, waiting for the vessel to dock. Behind him, Aeryn and John watched Scorpius and Braca sneak glances at each other when they each thought the other wasn't looking.

“What do you think that's about?” Aeryn whispered.

“I guess in gay super villain land being willing to kill your henchman's murderer is a huge relationship milestone.”

“Do you think you can handle this development or should I instruct 1812 to meet you in the starburst chamber?”

“I can handle it. I'm handling it.”

“Are you certain? You made a wonderful display of your arse in command earlier.”

“Aw, baby, I love it when you talk dir—” John jumped at clattering of the janky vessel as it hit the deck. “Jesus!”

A distinctly masculine voice called from within the vessel, “Sorry!” Then out he came, walking purposefully (if belaboredly) toward Stark. Then the two did their best reenactment of that scene in _Forrest Gump_ when he reunites with Jenny and they kiss in the reflecting pool in front of the Washington Monument. You know, if Tom Hanks was missing half his face and the chick who played Princess Buttercup was a dude with facial tattoos and really bad teeth.

“Still handling it?” Aeryn asked.

“Uh.”

Stark pulled away long enough for his “wife” to get a word in. “I can't believe you're alive. Once Scorpius grabbed you, I was sure the spineless, crippled fekkik would've...” He looked over Stark's shoulder, apparently surprised to see Scorpius standing there. “Scorpius. Hi. You look good.” He nodded at Braca. “Natira. Always a pleasure.” He smiled at Aeryn and Crichton before his mouth dropped clear open. “I know you. You're D'Argo's friends!”

“Yes. I'm Aeryn and this is John.”

“John? John Crichton! I can't believe it!”

John gave an awkward half wave. “Hi.”

“Stark mentioned you two were friends with D'Argo, too, but I couldn't put the name to a face. Always been awful at that.” (“Obviously,” Braca muttered.) “By the Goddess, I can't believe I saved John Crichton's life. Course, back then, you were just some nobody running from the Peacekeepers same as the rest of us. Hey, guess I could say I knew you when, eh?”

John gazed at the man searchingly. “When exactly did you save my life?”

“You got stuck in the flax. You and your female. D'Argo and I came and got you out.”

“Right.” John snapped. “Staanz. Former Zanetan garbologist.”

“And the female of the species,” Aeryn said. “That should ease your discomfort, John.”

John shot Aeryn a suitably snotty expression before looking back at Staanz and his—her flat stomach. “Speaking of female, aren't you supposed to be about to give birth?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Staanz turned around and flipped her jacket over her head, revealing a strange, oblong mass attached to her back. She rubbed the mass fondly—Stark was looking at it with a twinkle in his eye—and it pulsated, glowing bright yellow.

“Hit the deck!” Braca aimed his pulse pistol at Staanz' back. “She's armed.”

Stark jumped in front Staanz. “That's not a weapon, you trasnik! That's the baby!”

Braca lowered his sidearm, but looked no more at ease. If anything, he looked petrified.

Staanz lowered her jacket. “You people act like you've never seen a female hauling an egg sac before.”

“I haven't,” John said. “Outside that time my dorm got infested with wolf spiders.”

“Well, how do you people do it?” Stark whispered something in Staanz' ear. “By the Goddess, that is disgusting! Who would do that?”

Aeryn raised her hand. “It's not something I'd volunteer for.”

“Holy hez.” Staanz cupped her groin sympathetically. “No wonder Peacekeepers don't raise their own children. I wouldn't want to see the little fekkik after that either.”

–

Over lunch (Braca wisely abstained; Staanz was happy enough to take his portion), Aeryn went over their plans. “We arrive by prowler. Scorpius and Braca take Staanz and Stark to the slave registry. While security is focused on them, I sneak into the creche and check John's DNA against the baby's. If it matches, I take the baby back to Moya. John stays home and watches D'Argo. Any problems?”

“Several,” Scorpius said. “The genetic scanners employed by Peacekeeper medical are unable to process dead tissue samples for non-Sebaceans. To determine Crichton's paternity, we require a live sample.”

John swallowed his bite of food. “Fine. I go down. Aeryn stays with D.”

“No,” Aeryn objected. “I'm not letting you go down there while Grayza is—”

“I'll be fine.”

“I wasn't there to protect you once. I won't let that happen again.”

“Er, hi.” Staanz raised her hand. “I have a problem. I'm a fugitive. I can't go down to that base without finding myself locked up on another Leviathan.”

“The Peacekeepers discontinued the Leviathan class,” Braca said off-handedly.

“The fleet was released?” Aeryn asked.

“No. Salvaged.”

“Salvaged?” John spat. “Leviathans aren't Trans Ams. They're living beings.”

“Not anymore.”

John leaned over the table. “You are one cold son of a bitch, you know that?”

“I'm well aware.”

“If I might interject,” Stark started.

“Go ahead,” Aeryn said. “Nothing's ever stopped you before.”

“Yeah. Isn't this about the part where you fly off the handle about hundreds of dead Leviathan? Me dead, you dead?” John asked.

Stark ignored him. “There is a way of transferring my ownership to Staanz without her having to be there. In certain cases, especially around a holiday or a feast, registries will issue gift deeds for slaves. Scorpius and Braca could transfer ownership to either of you and then you could give me to Staanz.”

“This is so wrong,” John mumbled.

“So, either one of us could go down to the base?” Aeryn asked.

“Yes,” Stark responded. “But it would be best if both of you were there. To avoid suspicion, you see. I'm something people give as a couple.”

“Right. Scorpius and Braca, Stark, John and I all go down to the base. Staanz stays here and... watches D'Argo. Frell.”

“Me?” Staanz asked, pointing to herself. “I wouldn't know the first thing about caring for one of your offspring. You'd have better luck hiring a barkan. At least they're mammals.”

Pilot chimed in. “While Moya and I condemn any attempt to rend mother from child, I would be willing to further aid in Stark gaining his freedom by assisting Staanz in attending to D'Argo.”

“You'd be up to that?” John asked.

“I have watched D'Argo for limited periods in the past, during—and I quote—'private mommy and daddy time.' I'm well acquainted with his biological needs and any tasks I do not have the dexterity to fulfill can be performed by Staanz.”

“I think I could handle that,” Staanz said.

“That's it, then,” John said. “We go in, buy a slave, and possibly steal a baby. Gotta love my life.”


	4. Ace Up Your Sleeve

_“Aeryn, lighten up! Have some fun!”  
“Fun? How am I to have fun?”  
“Well, I don't know how you're supposed to have fun, but this is fun! This is _Top Gun _! This is the need for speed. Admit it you like this stuff.”  
“I have no need for speed.”  
“Yes. you do. I see it in your eye all the time. You miss the adrenaline of combat flying.”  
“I miss the teamwork of combat flying. The reason why I agreed to teach you to do this is because you may become vaguely of some use to me one day in battle.”  
“Oh. Well, thank you for that vote of confidence.”_  
—John Crichton and Aeryn Sun, “The Flax” 

–

John sat down on the bed and strapped a pulse pistol to his ankle. “I'm not trying to be like this on purpose, you know?”

“Be like what?” Aeryn was stashing a pulse charge in her bun.

“Like...” He sighed and collapsed onto the bed. “On Earth, I'm a fairly tolerant, forward-thinking, modern guy. Totally okay with gay people... Elton John, Freddie Mercury, that guy who does the exercise videos? Love 'em like a brother. Ellen? I kept watching even after she came out. But Scorpius? Braca? They're not exactly Paul Lynde.”

“So, you like gay people as long as they entertain you?”

“No, I like gay people as long as they're not evil!”

“Stark and Staanz aren't evil, but seeing them kiss still gave you a woody.”

“The willies. Gave me the...” He noticed the grin threatening to form at the corners of Aeryn's mouth. “You did that on purpose.”

“Maybe. But you deserved it.”

John sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. “I'm trying. It's hard... Men sleeping with men. Men kissing women who look like men with giant fetuses growing out of their backs. That's not something you see every day in Florida.” He propped up his chin on the balls of his hands. “I thought I was cool with it. The gay thing. The alien thing. But I guess I'm not.”

Aeryn cupped the back of John's head. “It takes time and work. It took me cycles to work through all the bigoted things I learned as a Peacekeeper. Sometimes I don't think I've gotten rid of all of it. But I was lucky.” She tilted John's head up so they were eye-to-eye. “I had someone to help me. You, Zhaan, Pilot, D'Argo.” She stroked her thumb through John's hair. “But you have to understand, John, no one's going to hold your hand.” Aeryn dropped John's head and went back over to her footlocker.

“What?” John spat incredulously. “You can't give me all that build-up and tell me I'm on my own.”

“You weren't honestly expecting Scorpius or Stark to talk you through this? Even if they were willing, they wouldn't have the frame of reference to explain it to you. The way you feel about sexual relationships between men is beyond the understanding of anyone on Moya.”

“Right, so you're telling me nobody has a problem with homosexuality.”

“Yes. Outside of a few breakaway colonies and backwaters, I can't think of a single civilization that condemns people who have relationships with members of the same sex.”

“So, the jarheads in the Luxan military, they wouldn't bat an eyelash at two men together?”

Aeryn smiled mischievously. “From what I've heard about the Luxan legion, it's usually more than two men together at a time.”

“You're joking.”

“Luxan troops are deployed off-planet for cycles at a time. What did you think they were getting up to?”

“I don't know. Raping, pillaging, that kind of thing.”

“You'd rather think that D'Argo was a rapist than attracted to men?”

“Not D'Argo, specifically. Just Luxans in—do you think D'Argo was...?”

“I don't know. We never had friendly conversations about our sexual conquests. But, if I had to guess, based on what I know about Luxans, he wouldn't have been adverse to it, or, at the very least, not as panicked about it about it as you are. Just look at how well he handled Bobby's little infatuation with him.”

“Bobby? Cousin Bobby?”

“I thought he was your nephew.”

“He's both.”

Aeryn wrinkled her nose. “I thought your people had prohibitions against that.”

“We do. His mother is my sister and his father is my second cousin once removed. That makes him my nephew and third cousin. So, I would know if he had a crush on my best friend. And he didn't. So, there. Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah.”

“Bobby followed D'Argo around like a canine, filming him, and asking D'Argo to lick him. You don't think that's a little suggestive?”

“That's just normal guy stuff. Guys look up to other guys. There's nothing gay about that.”

“All right, if Bobby wasn't stuck on D'Argo, why didn't he recreate with Chiana?”

“Because he's thirteen!”

“Chiana wouldn't have cared. And can you honestly say if Chiana was throwing herself at you when you were his age that you would've refused? Peacekeeper training or no, I know I wouldn't have.”

If it weren't for the TMJ he developed over the past four cycles, John's jaw would've hit the floor. “You... women?”

“Not as much as I'm attracted to men, but yes. Does that bother you?” she asked in such a way that indicated that if did bother him, he'd best get the frell over it immediately.

“Not so much bother as get me hot and bothered.”

“Two women together is arousing, but two men together is disgusting. How does that make any sense?”

“It doesn't. Consider that the great paradox of my people.”

“It's not just you who feels this way, it's the entire planet?”

“I don't know if I can speak for all of Earth, but I'd say for most Americans, that's true.”

Aeryn zipped up her jacket. “Sounds terribly confining.”

“And growing up Peacekeeper, that was all about free love?”

“Not love, but we could recreate amongst ourselves free of censure.”

“You could have frelled Box Boy and your PK buddies wouldn't have given you dren for it?”

“I would've never heard the end of it.”

“So, you and Braca. You never...?” Aeryn guffawed. “I'll take that as a no.”

“I'm insulted that you would even ask. The man's a total zannet. And even if I lost my mind and wanted to frell him, it wouldn't be allowed. We're in the same ident class.”

“Ident class?”

“Peacekeepers are grouped into the classes with those whom recreating with would be inadvisable. Either because it would be dangerous to the unit or because any potential offspring would be defective.”

“And you what? Memorize the names of all the people in your class?”

“No, that's hardly practical. There can be thousands of Peacekeepers in a class. We just check each other's ident marks before recreating. Each class has its own symbol. Didn't you notice that Braca and I both had quintaquetra in our ident marks?”

“No, 'cause to do that I'd have to be able to see your ident marks... and know what a kwintoketchra is.”

–

“Are you certain you can do this?” Aeryn asked. “I could bring him along if—”

“Relax, cheela. Your little offspring's in good hands.” Staanz glanced over at Pilot, who was cradling D. “Good claws. He's in good claws.”

“All right. Do you remember what I taught you?”

“Yeah, yeah. Blood is red, fire is bad, aaaaaaaand don't drop him. I've got it. It's all...” Staanz tapped herself on the head.

“Thank you. Both of you.”

“Hurry back, would ya? I'm not sure I can—” She yipped in pain.

“Are you all right?”

“I'm fine. I'm fine. I just...” She bent over, rubbing a hand along the bump on her back. It was pulsating even brighter now.

“How long?”

“What?”

“How long until you deliver?”

“I don't know. I never done this before! Why does everyone expect me to be a cranking expert all of a sudden?”

“Right. You're yelling but you haven't shot anyone. I'd say you have at least three arns.”

“You have get back here before then or my baby—”

“I know. We'll be back as soon as we can.”

Aeryn turned to walk away, but Staanz grabbed her wrist. “Promise me you won't tell Stark. He'd lose his givleks if he found out.”

–

“Do not lose them,” Braca said warningly, handing a packet of cooling rods to Stark. “Do not attempt to tamper with them.” And a packet to Crichton, pointedly. “And,” he sighed, passing a packet to Aeryn, “do not attempt to insert them into your person.”

“My person?” Aeryn asked.

Braca said nothing, just glared at Aeryn's groin.

“There?” Crichton asked indignantly. “Who the hell would ever be that stupid?”

“Not stupid,” Scorpius said, leaned up against Braca's prowler. “Merely scientifically curious.”

Stark muttered, “Poor Sikozu.”

Braca stepped back in line with Scorpius. “As we agreed, Scorpius will fly in Aeryn's prowler and, in mine, I will take...” He exhaled heavily, flaring his nostrils. “Crichton and Stark.” He glanced at Scorpius and transmitted, _You owe me._

_Your loyalty will be rewarded._

Braca smirked. Usually that meant a blow job. “Shall we?”

Sun and Scorpius boarded her prowler wordlessly, while Crichton and the Banik boarded Braca's with all the grace of a monen-old drannit, chattering about some obscure aspect of Human culture.

“No, no,” Crichton said, strapping on his seat belt. “Aeryn's Buffy. I'm Xander. And you're Willow.”

“Who are Scorpius and Braca?”

As Braca climbed into the pilot's seat, he spied Crichton contorting his face into an expression of utter solemnity. “Scorpy and Braca do _not_ get to be in the Scooby Gang.”

As if Braca would join any gang of which Crichton was a member. That is, unless Scorpius asked him to join. “Readying for take-off,” Braca spoke into his comm.

“Hangar doors opening in three microts,” Aeryn said on the other end. “Two, one, exit hangar.”

Once they cleared their strange fleet (two Leviathans without controls collars and whatever model of rust bucket Staanz fancied a ship had surely never flown as one prior to that day), Braca settled into formation behind Aeryn. Their flight plan could have been executed by a pair of infant Humans; nevertheless, Braca found flying with another Peacekeeper again pleasant.

Crichton was, of course, trying to quash any meager amount of enjoyment Braca was experiencing while in his presence. The Human was currently molesting Braca's prowler like it was a Grudek tralk. “I didn't notice before, but yours is different from Aeryn's on the inside.”

“Yes. The prowler fleet was given significant interior upgrades following Officer Sun's departure.” Including improvements to the pilot's harness that corrected its tendency to jam up upon ejection. Braca thought it best not to mention that to Crichton.

“What's this—”

“Don't touch that,” Braca snapped.

“What'll happen if I do?” Crichton's finger hovered intons away from the object in question.

“We will all die.”

“Just from me touching this one panel?”

“Yes. You could start a chain reaction of events that could ultimately lead to the cockpit separating from the thrusters and—”

“Fine. I won't touch anything.”

“Thank you.”

The Banik leaned over Crichton's seat and pointed to the back of Braca's neck. “You have a scar right there.”

Crichton, of course, took it upon himself to join this examination of Braca's person, leaning close enough for his breath to hit Braca's skin. “That looks fresh. You get into a scrape before you found us?”

“Not a scrape,” Stark said getting somehow closer still. “It looks like bite marks. Pointy, too.”

“My god,” Crichton laughed. “It's a hickey. It's a Scarran half-breed hickey!”

Stark collapsed back into his seat—out of disgust, Braca supposed. 

“How I acquired the abrasion is none of your concern.”

“So, basically, you're admitting it's a hickey.”

Braca rested a self-conscious hand on his neck. Normally, he would feel no need to disguise the evidence of his and Scorpius' recreation—sexual relationships between commander and second were ubiquitous in the ranks and Braca had long abandoned any embarrassment about Scorpius' genetics. However, the marks on his neck—Stark and Crichton were both right; there were scars and a fresh wound—bespoke activities beyond the recreative. Braca had witnessed Scorpius do countless things to numerous sexual partners, but as far as he knew, he was the only person whom Scorpius bit on the back of the neck. This knowledge combined with the chemical released in his brain by Scorpius' teeth piercing his skin generated a sensation that Braca was unable to identify but knew for certain was unbecoming of someone of his birth and training.

Crichton wasn't completely lacking in social graces and took the hint to drop the subject... only to bring up an even more uncomfortable one. “You must be glad to be going back.”

“Glad is not the word I would use.”

“You don't miss it? Being a Peacekeeper?”

“No.” That was a vast oversimplification.

“C'mon, you're Mr. Peacekeeper. You're telling me you don't miss it at all?”

“The goals of the Peacekeepers have diverged significantly from my own since the peace treaty was signed.” Again, another oversimplification, but the more Crichton didn't know, the more malleable he would be.

“You want war; they want peace. I get it.”

“Yes, Crichton. I obviously risked life, limb, and unit protecting the Eidolons out of a misguided lust for war.”

“Lust for somethin',” Crichton mumbled.

Braca let the comment pass, hoping that Crichton's decrease in volume would continue on to an eventual silence. Crichton was blissfully quiet for approximately ten microts before he started making some rhythmic buzzing sound with his mouth.

“You say, I only hear what I want to,” Crichton said quietly in an oddly high-pitched voice.

“I never said that,” Braca said. “Nevertheless—”

“And you say, I talk so all the time, so...”

“I didn't say that either, but I find myself inclined to agree.”

“And I thought what I felt was simple  
And I thought that I don't belong  
And now that I am leavin'  
Now I know that I did somethin' wrong  
'Cause I missed you.”

“You _missed_ me?”

“Yeah yeah, I missed you.”

“Crichton.”

“And you say, I only hear what I want to  
I don't listen hard, don't pay attention  
To the distance that you're running  
To anyone, anywhere  
I don't understand if you really care  
I'm only hearing negative, no no no, bad.”

Crichton was _singing_ in Braca's prowler.

“So I, I turned the radio on, I turned the radio up  
And this woman was singin' my song  
Lover's in love and the other's run away  
Lover is cryin', 'cause the other won't stay.”

And now the Banik was singing with him. This was why the Peacekeepers didn't hold any gods. 

Braca executed a quick barrel roll, hoping the G-forces would shut them up. 

“Are you showing off, Braca?” Aeryn asked over comms.

“I seriously doubt your competence as a pilot if that maneuver constitutes 'showing off.'”

Aeryn scoffed. “Evasive maneuver zydra-13.”

Braca rolled his eyes and pulled the maneuver. “Your turn. Zydra-14.”

“You can do better than that, Braca.”

“Fine. Xerce-36 at hetch two.”

She completed the maneuver easily. Apparently, cycles on the run hadn't dulled her skills. “Wyrt-00 in spiral formation.” Braca couldn't see Aeryn's face, but somehow he could tell she was smiling. He found himself doing the same. “On my mark.”

“Acknowledged.” Braca accelerated forward until he was parallel to Sun.

“Engage.”

They took off as one, executing a series of rolls and turns as perfect mirrors of one another in a tight spiral. When they pulled out, the base's security checkpoint was straight ahead of them.

–

Alerted to their presence by security, Grayza was waiting in the docking bay to meet them.

“Commandant,” Scorpius said tersely.

“Scorpius,” she replied, “so lovely to see you again. Crichton.” She smiled. “I trust you are not planning anything.”

“Naw. C'mon,” John said, “if we were planning some massive, delicate undertaking why would we bring him along?” He slapped Stark on the back.

Stark coughed and gave a perfunctory, “My side, your side.” Grayza didn't look impressed, so Aeryn gave Stark a good pinch. He yipped and went into his best, Aurora Chair-perfected rant. “Death!” He pointed at Grayza. “You say you want peace, but all you want is death! You-you kill, you warp, you mangle! My people! A million Baniks burnt alive in cesium mines on the orders of the Peacekeeper commandant! I can hear their screams! Children small enough—”

“Silence your slave,” Grayza ordered.

Braca yanked Stark backwards by his shirt collar, eliciting a strangled cry from the Banik.

Grayza looked at Scorpius. “I can see why you would want to sell him. But I do not understand why you,” she said, turning to Aeryn and John, “would want to give him as a gift. I thought he was your friend.”

“He was,” John said. “So was Pilot. But we still cut off his arm.”

“I see.” She addressed the group as a whole. “Conduct your business quickly or I will send my personal security team to assist you.” She turned and walked away, not giving them another look.

As they took off toward the notary, Scorpius whispered to Stark, “You were faking it?”

Stark smirked. “The whole time we were together.”

–

Transferring Stark's ownership was easier than John has expected. Frankly, it reminded him of getting things gift-wrapped at JC Penney. All he and Aeryn had to do was give their bio-signature and Stark was theirs. John was asked more questions last time he bought dry ice. Once the gift deed was in hand, they were all herded into the medical ward to certify that all of Stark's shots were up to date.

“A nurse will be with you shortly,” the redshirt said as he left them alone in the tiny exam room.

“Are we being observed?” Aeryn asked. She looked around the room for any obvious bugs.

“No,” Scorpius said. “My spy disengaged patient monitoring when we docked.”

John relaxed slightly. “When d'we see the kid?”

“Soon. My contact has—”

The door swished open and they all tried to look as inconspicuous as possible, which, given their luck, meant three of them ended up casually whistling the same Lisa Loeb song. Stark stopped mid-verse and pointed at the Peacekeeper in the doorway. “It's _you_!”

John looked up at the Peacekeeper, a thin woman with red hair and pointy bangs. “Hey, it's Peacekeeper Barbie. Today's shaping up to be just a big family reunion of everyone who ever tortured us.”

Once the door closed behind her, Scorpius nodded at the Peacekeeper. “Niem. Do you have the child?”

She shook her head and held out a small card in the palm of her head.

Scorpius' eyes widened. “It's here?”

Niem nodded and scanned the card on a panel by the door. The room's hammond side bulkhead sunk into the deck, revealing a ladder leading to the depths below.

“Your loyalty will be rewarded.”

“By both of us,” Braca piped in.

Niem looked oddly pleased by this and a little flushed. She nodded once more and left.

Scorpius held his hand out toward the ladder. “Shall we?”

“You first,” Aeryn said.

Scorpy grabbed hold of the ladder and headed down. Braca waited by the opening until everyone else had begun their descent before following them down.

Against his better judgment, John looked down. The dark seemed to stretch for eternity. “Anyone mind sharing where we're going?” he asked.

“The genetic vault,” Scorpius answered.

“I thought that was a myth,” Aeryn said.

“Apparently not.”

“What is it?” John asked.

“The genetic vault is said to hold the genetic profile of anyone who has ever been a Peacekeeper stretching back over a thousand cycles,” Scorpius said.

“Why's it locked up in the Temple of Doom? Shouldn't your doctors have that kind of information?”

“Superior genetics are the Peacekeeper's greatest weapon,” Braca said. “Making the fleet's genetic signatures that widely available would be—”

“Like giving White House interns the nuclear launch codes. I get it.”

Crichton heard the soles of Scorpys' KISS boots hit the deck below. He sneaked another peek and saw Aeryn and Stark dismount the ladder. When he was three or four rungs from the bottom, John jumped. He turned around to find a dimly lit room no bigger than his granddaddy's cellar. In the center stood a circular console a lot like the one John and Co-Kura worked at on Scorpy's dearly departed Command Carrier. Definitely not as grand as John was expecting.

“How do we do this?” he asked.

“Put the sample collector in your mouth,” Scorpius said.

“Sample...?”

“There.” Scorpius pointed to a cylindrical probe sticking out of the console. “Braca, the data sphere.”

As Scorpy slotted the sphere into the console, John stared at the ridiculously phallic sample collector. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Why would I?”

“It... looks like a frelling dildo.”

“John,” Aeryn said, placing a hand on John's shoulder, “it's a standard sample collector. It takes genetic material from skin cells in the mouth.”

John sighed and picked up the sample collector. “How do I...?”

“Put in in your mouth. Slowly.” John was about to jam the thing in his mouth like a thermometer when Aeryn warned him, “Make sure you don't scrape it with your teeth. The device is very sensitive.” That proved harder than it sounded. “Now, rub the tip against your cheek. Yes, just like that.” His jaw was starting to ache. “Okay, now relax your throat and put the probe in as far as you can.” John felt the collector tickle his gag reflex when he saw Braca's shoulders shaking and Stark hiding his reddening face behind his hand.

“That should be more than sufficient,” Scorpius said, smirking.

John spat out the probe and glared at Aeryn. “You're lucky I love you.”

She smiled. “I'm sure if you find the task so degrading, you won't request it anymore.”

“I did not say that.”

“Paternity results,” the console droned. John felt time stop. “Negative match.”

Oh, thank god. He smiled at Scorpius. “The kid's not mine. Let's go.”

Two microts after they had all turned to leave the console sounded again. “Positive match found. Former captain Meeklo Braca.”

“What?” Scorpius hissed, grabbing Braca by the back of the neck.

As if to answer him, the console continued, “Former captain Meeklo Braca is the biological father of Infant Peacekeeper Grayza.”

Braca looked at Scorpius with eyes wide. “That's impossible.”

“Dude, you boned Grayza!” Crichton laughed.

Braca glared at him. “Yes, Crichton, obviously, as a spy, I wanted to be in a position where she could force the truth out of me.”

“Did you, I don't know, give a sperm sample?”

“Sebacean women can't be impregnated with preserved sperm,” Scorpius said, clearly teetering on the edge of something.

“Then how did...” John sucked in a breath. “Jesus, Braca.”

Braca stumbled away from Scorpius. “No, I would remember that.”

“She never drugged you?” Aeryn asked.

“Yes, but we never...” He grabbed his head. “She said we did—you were on Earth. It was a larnapse. Showed up in my neural scans... Must have been a Skreeth...”

Scorpius growled and clambered up the ladder.

“Where the frell is he going?” Aeryn asked.

Stark stared up the ladder. “I imagine to find and kill Grayza.”

“Frell.” Aeryn took off up the ladder after Scorpius.

“Braca,” John said, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Do you—”

Braca shrugged him off. “I'm fine.” He weebled. He wobbled. He fell down.

John caught him in time and lowered him to the ground. When he pulled his hand away from Braca's neck, it was covered in sweat. “He's burning up.”

“Heat delirium!” Stark said, pointing to Braca.

“What? It's freezing in here.”

“He was a Peacekeeper.” As if that explained anything.

“Yeah, I know, but why's he—”

“Peacekeepers—they don't know how to process traumatic events, so they repress them. And if they remember, their brains fry and they go into heat delirium. That's why the Aurora Chair was invented—it's the only safe way to get those memories out.”

John grabbed his comm. “Aeryn, we got trouble. Braca's going into heat delirium.”

–

Fortunately, Scorpius hadn't gotten far; Aeryn tracked him down right outside the medical ward. Using the element of surprise, she managed to push him into a doorway. “You are compromising the entire mission,” she whispered.

“Do I look like I care about the mission?”

“No, you care about him.” Scorpius averted his eyes. “You're not helping him by going after Grayza.”

“Wouldn't you do the same after what she did to Crichton?” Braca was Scorpius' Crichton? That was a terrifying thought. 

“I want to, but if I went after everyone who hurt John, you would be dead right now.”

–

“How do you fix this?” Crichton asked.

“I don't know,” Stark said. “Usually I'm ordered to smother them and then pass them over.”

“Right, uh, we gotta lower his temperature. Help me get his clothes off.” John reached for Braca's zipper only to get a sock to the jaw from the catatonic man.

Stark held his hands up. “Crichton, I don't think he wants anyone to undress him right now.”

“Frell.” John massaged his jaw. “There's gotta be something...” He looked over at the console. “Does that thing have medical files on it?”

“I don't know. You could check.”

“Okay, uh.” He crawled over to the console, pulling himself up with its edge. “I'll do that and you cool him down.”

“How?”

“I don't know. Blow on him.”

“Right.” Stark crouched down, his face hovering just above Braca's. He took in a deep breath and blew on Braca's forehead like it was a hot cup of coffee.

John went back to the console, desperately pressing whatever buttons he could find. He didn't know what he was looking for exactly. Medical records? Maybe Braca'd had heat delirium before and the damn computer would tell them how to treat it. John punched the button below Braca's hologram. His file wasn't exactly user-friendly—just one giant block text. Start at the beginning. Okay. Birth.

John's jaw dropped open—TMJ be damned. “No frelling way.” John tapped his comm. “Aeryn! You've got to get back down here. Braca's... He's—”

“John,” Stark cried, very out of breath, “he doesn't have much time.”

“Aeryn, he's dying.”

–

Scorpius gripped the sides of his head as if in pain. Aeryn did not want to stoop to this, knowing full well what depending on a tentative ally for a cooling rod change felt like. But she wasn't going to let Scorpius get all of them killed. “I'll change your cooling rod, if you—”

“My cooling rod is fine,” Scorpius spat.

Aeryn should've known. She'd never Scorpius hold his head like that, but she'd seen John do it. “He's calling for you, isn't he?”

The only response Aeryn received was a heated glare and some heavy breathing.

“Braca is _dying_. And I think you know how to save him.”

Scorpius looked genuinely torn, glancing between the corridor back to the exam room and the corridor leading to VIP quarters. He gave a Scarran growl before stomping off to Grayza's cabin.

“That it's then,” Aeryn called. “Right now. You get to choose: kill your father or save your mother.”

Scorpius stopped, his shoulders rising and depressing like he was sighing before he turned on his heel and took off in run back to the exam room. Aeryn followed close behind, muttering a thankful, “Finally.” Dodging half a flaxxon of medtechs, they reached the exam room where Scorpius rummaged through the storage shelves.

“What do you need?” Aeryn asked.

“A syringe.” Scorpius held up one with a frighteningly long needle. “This should work.” He took off down the ladder holding the syringe between his teeth. Taking two rungs at a time, Aeryn could barely keep up with him.

Inside the genetic vault, Stark was blowing on Braca's forehead while John fanned him with his jacket.

Men.

“Nice of you to join us,” John said.

Scorpius spit out the syringe. “Lift his shirt.”

“We tried that. He clocked me.”

“He's conscious?”

“Conscious enough to hit me.”

“I'll need you to hold him down.”

“What're you gonna do to him?”

“Flip him over and hold him down.”

“Got it.” Stark and John rolled Braca onto his stomach. “You take his left arm, I'll take his right. Aeryn—”

“I've got his legs.” Aeryn sat down on the back of Braca's thighs and gingerly lifted up his shirt, causing Braca to thrash about like a barkan in distress.

Scorpius removed a cooling rod from the container sewn into his suit and bit the top off of the rod. He handed it to Aeryn. “Hold that.”

“What are you going to do with it?” Aeryn asked.

“One of the most rudimentary treatments for chronic heat delirium.” Scorpius stuck the needle into the cooling rod, filling the syringe with freezing, cold liquid. He knelt next to Braca and held the needle above his spine. “This is going to be incredibly painful, but it's important that you keep him still.”

“Jesus,” John said, casting his eyes elsewhere.

“On the count of three. One, two—”

“Wait!” Stark shouted. Scorpius paused, looking up at the Banik. Stark ripped off his shirt sleeve, balled it up, and jammed it into Braca's mouth. “So he doesn't bite off his tongue.”

“Good. Make sure he doesn't suffocate.”

Stark nodded.

“On three. One, two, three.” Scorpius pressed the syringe into Braca's skin, sending an involuntary jerk through the man's body. “Steady.” He continued inserting the impossibly long needle—the deeper it got, the harder Braca thrashed and the louder he screamed. John was about to lose control of his upper half when Braca stilled. Scorpius pulled out the empty syringe before abruptly stabbing Braca in the ankle, which jerked in response. “He's not paralyzed. We'll need to check his other extremities.”

A quieter, muffled noise came from Braca's gagged mouth.

“I think he's trying to say something,” Stark said, removing the gag.

Braca spat a few times before saying, “Stop jabbing me.” He turned his head to the side and glared at John. “Let go of me.” Scorpius nodded and three of them cleared off. Braca struggled to his feet, using Scorpius's shoulder to pull himself up. “Let's go.”

“Is there another way out of here?” Aeryn asked. “Security is no doubt investigating the disturbance in the corridor.”

Scorpius said, “I'm not certain but I've never known the Peacekeepers—”

“Computer,” John said, “open door.” A portion of the treblin bulkhead swished open to reveal another ladder. “ _Star Trek_ ,” John explained.

This ladder was shorter, bringing them up to a lab the deck below the exam room. Fortunately, no one was working inside. Scorpius led them out the door and into a corridor unlike anything Aeryn had ever seen, except, perhaps, as an infant. The walls were a transparent material and behind them were rows and rows of slumbering infants, none of whom could be much older than D. They walked silently down the hall, unsure if the walls were soundproof, but certain a hundred wailing Peacekeepers were bound to draw attention. Braca was taking the bizarre sight well, all things considered, until they come upon one infant who had its own separate room. The small sign attached to its crib read: Infant Peacekeeper Grayza. Braca stood still for a moment and then did what Aeryn was certain was the first spontaneous thing he ever did in his life.

He took the baby.

Coming back into the hallway, he gave his perplexed companions one look and said, “We should probably run,” before shooting off down the hall.

“Did you know he was gonna do that?” John asked Scorpius.

“No!”

They took off after Braca, managing to catch up rather quickly given that neither of them were carrying anything or had just received a spinal injection without anesthesia. 

“Braca,” Scorpius hissed, grabbing him by shoulder. “Put down the baby.”

“It's mine,” Braca said, like a child fighting over a new full-grade field ranger pulse pistol.

“What do you plan do with it?”

“Keep it. I made it. I get to keep it.”

Scorpius and Braca stared into each other's eyes intently, probably talking through their excessively strange neural chips. After a few microts, Scorpius seemed to break and looked down semi-fondly at the infant awkwardly resting in Braca's arms. He sighed, looking back to Aeryn. “We should hurry back to the docking bay.”

If their journey there was free from security intervention, it was because all of security was waiting for them in the docking bay. Grayza stood in front of them, flanked by two officers pointing rifles at her two captives on the ground: Staanz and D'Argo.

“Did you think I was so stupid as to give you safe passage without an insurance policy?” she asked. “Surrender yourselves to me or they both die. Sign over Stark, give me the child, and surrender.”

“Stark!” Staanz called. “Don't do it!”

Grayza glared angrily at the noisy captive. She swiped two fingers along her cleavage and was mere microts from wiping them along Staanz' face when she froze. Standing like a statue, covered in a translucent bubble, wrinkles formed on her face, her famed bosom began to sag, her hair grayed, and her overall frame seemed to shrink minutely. What happened next proceeded like a motion capture of a corpse decomposing. After twenty microts, there was nothing left of her.

“What the hell was that?” John whispered.

“I think it was me,” Stark answered.

“Can you do it again?” he asked, eyeing the security officers just now recovering from the shock of their commandant aging to death.

“Er...”

“Stark!”

Stark furrowed his brow, and the security officers were enveloped in an orange bubble, freezing them, but unlike Grayza, they retained their current age.

Stark gaped. “I have no idea what I'm doing.”


	5. Friends with Kids

_“So, what's their problem then?”  
“Fear. Abject fear.”  
“Of what?”  
“Their fear extends to the point of not talking about their fear.”_  
—Chiana, Stark, and Noranti, _The Peacekeeper Wars_

–

Once Moya and Triskel were safely three starbursts away from the base, Pilot came over the clamshell to sate his curiosity. “What happened down there?”

Crichton responded, “Braca had a Vietnam flashback of working under Grayza, he stole her baby—which it turns out is his baby—and Stark has more superpowers. Did I miss anything?” he asked the rest of command.

“I think that's it,” Stark said.

Across the room, Aeryn laid a hand on Braca's shoulder. “Do you want me to take her?”

Braca stared at her, bewildered. “Take who?” His eyes followed her finger as she pointed to the baby in his arms. “Oh...” Braca managed to hand over the baby before he votched—on the same spot the DRDs spent arns disinfecting after Braca's last appearance in command.

Aeryn liked to think she was good with children; she was certainly good with her own, but Braca's offspring reacted to her embrace like it was a sulfuric acid bath. D reacted sympathetically, deciding to wail his head off in a misplaced show of solidarity.

“Frelling tralkbag trasnik dren hez!” Staanz shouted doubled over in pain. The mass on her back pulsated violently, shining through her shirt and jacket. “I think I'm having the baby... Or I'm dying. Either way. Help.”

Stark reacted just as well as anyone could have expected, hopping from foot to foot, yelling, “What do I do? What do I do?”

John had apparently hit his threshold for weird alien dren and was now speaking entirely in Earth popular culture references. “Shazbot!”

Scorpius was... nowhere to be found.

Braca, however, once his stomach calmed, reacted to chaos as well as any Peacekeeper and became Aeryn's port in this storm.

“Braca,” Aeryn said, “take the baby. Make her stop crying.”

“How?” he asked, taking the baby.

“Rock her and sing.”

“Acknowledged.” Braca moved the baby about awkwardly while quietly singing, “You say, I only hear what I want to...”

“John.” Aeryn gripped his face in her hands. “Take care of D'Argo.”

“Kay-o.”

At last, Aeryn went to Staanz and took her hand. “What do you need?”

“I—I don't know. None of my people have ever mated with a Banik before. The fetus shouldn't be glowing like that... I don't think I can do this.”

Aeryn squeezed her hand. “You can do this. We'll do it together. Let's get your tops off.” She grabbed Stark by the leg. “Help your wife. Can you do that?”

“I can try.”

“Good. Braca.”

“Yes'm.”

“Go to the nursery and get me some blankets. There's a bag next to the crib. Bring that, too.”

“I'm on it.”

Stark had all of Staanz' shirts off by then. Her back was flashing like a strobe-light. “Stark, do you have any idea what the light means?”

“It's the baby's form in the Banik realm,” Stark stammered. “The energy sustains the fetus.”

“And what happens to it when the baby is born?”

“Um, it—it shines brightly and then—”

Suddenly, navigation was enveloped in a remarkably brilliant light for half a microt—like the flash of an Earth camera.

“And then that happens,” Stark finished, staring down at the newborn baby resting comfortably on Staanz' now flat back.

“What?” Staanz asked. “What happened?”

“You just had a baby,” Aeryn answered.

–

Braca was certain there was a way to parent a child without cooing desperately over it and endlessly remarking on its “ten teeny-tiny fingers, ten teeny-tiny toes, and _two_ big, beautiful eyes” like the Banik and his female. As another former Peacekeeper, Aeryn Sun was the logical place to go for parenting advice. Or, at the very least, advice on how to keep a baby alive.

Aeryn was willing to provide lessons free of charge because it was—to use her own words—“the right thing to do.” As always, Braca was motivated to impress his teacher with the rapid acquisition of skills. He didn't disappoint Aeryn or himself, quickly picking up how to change a diaper, properly hold the baby, induce eructation, and various things to trick the baby into sleeping. No matter how much he had learned, he couldn't seem to make the baby stop crying.

“Calm yourself, soldier,” Braca murmured, rocking the baby back and forth.

“I think she might be hungry,” Aeryn said.

“Do you have any...” To be quite honest, Braca wasn't sure what babies ate. “...baby food in the kitchen?”

“Not in the kitchen, no.” She held out her arms. “Here. I can...”

“What?”

“I can feed her.”

Braca was struck with the image of Aeryn Sun chewing up and regurgitating food into the baby's mouth like a trelkez. (The image was fresh in his mind because, as it turned out, that was how Yenen fed their young. Disgusting fringe species.) Then he realized what she was suggesting. “You mean...?”

“Yes.”

“I wouldn't want to impose on... your breasts.”

“You wouldn't be.”

“Are you sure you won't... run out?”

Aeryn smiled. “I'm sure. My body produces as much milk as the baby needs and with as many babies as there have been crying today, I think my body believes I have twins, if not triplets.”

“Oh. All right.” Braca passed the crying child over to Aeryn, who quite shockingly unzipped her shirt right there. He imagined she might have a special room for this. One without windows. Out of politeness and carefully indoctrinated Peacekeeper shame, Braca turned away.

Aeryn snickered. “You've probably changed Scorpius' cooling rods a hundred times, but this makes you turn in fear.”

Braca looked back at Aeryn. He could recognize a challenge when issued.

“That's better.” She looked down at the baby. “I think she's figuring it out... There. She's latched.” 

“Good.” Braca had no idea what Sun was talking about.

“Have you thought of any names?”

“No. I thought I'd wait until she started talking.” Honestly, he hadn't thought of anything for his... daughter except making ensuring that her immediate needs were met in the present moment and the thirty microts following it.

“And then you'd tell her her name?”

“Yes. That's what the Peacekeepers do. You don't remember getting your name?”

“Of course. The naming ceremony is one of my favorite memories from my childhood.”

(As a genetic experiment raised in seclusion, Braca didn't get a naming ceremony. Or favorite childhood memories.) “Then why would you deny your child that?”

“My child isn't a Peacekeeper and neither is yours.”

Braca knew that quite intimately. A Peacekeeper was one thing she could never be, especially now that Grayza was dead. Even if certain high command decisions were reversed, Braca doubted the Peacekeepers would waive blood purity requirements for her, or anyone else, for that matter. He would never be a Peacekeeper again and neither would his daughter; there was little use pretending otherwise. “Mirwa.” He swallowed. “I think I'll call her that.”

“Mirwa. Does it mean anything?”

Aeryn wasn't Scorpius, so he could lie. “No.”

“It's a good name. A strong name.” She looked down fondly at the suckling infant. “Mirwa Braca.” (Braca hadn't considered changing her last name, but now that he heard how that sounded he liked the idea.) “Do you like that, Mirwa?”

Half-expecting her to answer, Braca looked down at Mirwa. He didn't anticipate getting distracted by Aeryn's chest. Specifically the bead of sweat sliding down her cleavage.

Was it getting hot in here?

–

When Pilot said he couldn't detect Scorpius on board and that he hadn't left, John was fairly certain where Scorpius had squirreled himself away. John had to admit he was a little peeved that his Lex Luthor had camped out in his Fortress of Solitude, turning it into his own personal Batcave. (That was the problem with villains; they all thought they were antiheroes.) After setting up Stark, Staanz, and the wee half-breed with a room for the night, John hurried to the starburst chamber before Scorpy started redecorating.

Inside, Scorpius was sitting in a corner looking very much like an adolescent Charlie Brown after a disappointing S&M encounter. “Are you _moping_?”

Scorpius gave a withering glare. “Why are you here, Crichton?”

“It's been two arns since anyone's seen you. Pilot couldn't locate you, you weren't answering comms, you obviously aren't taking any of Braca's telepathic phone calls—”

“Braca hasn't contacted me through the neural chips.”

Crichton grabbed at his heart. “Ouch.” He sat down next to Scorpius. “Seriously, though. It's been a while since you got a fresh cooling rod. If we didn't find you soon, I was afraid we'd spend the next cycle searching for your body like a rotten Easter egg.” He grinned. “And I know how you feel about Easter.”

“Easter?”

“Right. That wasn't you.” He sighed. “You know, sometimes I wish you died instead of him. Of course, I wish you died instead of a lot of people. D'Argo, Zhaan, Jool, Spock at the end of _Wrath of Khan_.”

“Thank you, Crichton.”

“Do you need me to...?” He tapped the side of Scorpius' head.

“No. I had a DRD change it earlier.”

“A DRD? How'd you do that without Pilot knowing where you are?”

“While I was aboard Moya, I trained a DRD to follow my commands alone.”

“And he does your bidding?” John asked, threatening to break into giggles.

“Yes. She does.”

“Oh, she. I'm sorry. Does _she_ have a name?”

“I trained her to answer to...” Scorpius made a horrendous noise with the back of his throat. “It's Scarran for 'wormhole.'”

With that, John launched into a full-fledged giggle fit. The kind that made tears streak down his cheeks. The kind that made his abs get a full workout. That kind that he hadn't experienced since D'Argo died. 

“I'm glad you find this so amusing. I was hoping you would allow me to bring her back to Triskel when this is all over.”

“Of course,” he said, wiping his tears away. “You know I'd never want to get in the way of what is obviously a loving relationship.”

“Thank you.”

“Y'know, it is downright frightening how similar we are sometimes.”

“I've said the same myself.”

“That proves it then. We're practically the same person. Except I'm better looking and not terrified of babies.”

“I am not terrified of babies.”

“You ran and hid as soon as they started crying.”

“I _left_ when the Zanetan went into labor. I trust you understand why I would be reticent to attend a childbirth given what occurred the last time I was an active participant.”

There wasn't anything John could say to that (sorry you killed your mom?), so he said what had been at the back of his mind. “I saw Braca's genetic profile today down in the vault. I know.”

“Do you understand what that means?”

“Do you? Out of all the lies, out all the things you've kept from me over the years, out of all the times you've tricked me, somehow this is the worst. Because it's about family. You've threatened my friends, you've threatened my planet, you've threatened the woman I love, but you have never gone after my family like this.”

“If you understood the danger, I thought—”

“The danger? There was no danger except to your precious frelling revenge plot!”

“Crichton, there was no way I could be—” Scorpius paused, standing suddenly. “I have to go. Braca needs me.”

John rolled his eyes. “Look, the Scorp signal.”

–

Braca was sitting with his head between with his knees when John and Scorpius arrived in the nursery. Scorpius took one look at Braca and turned to Aeryn. “Is the coolant room still active?”

“As far I know,” Aeryn said, “yes.”

“Good.” Scorpius walked over to Braca and grabbed him by the back of his neck.

“I'm fine,” Braca said, rather unconvincingly.

“You're lying.” Scorpius wrenched Braca out of the chair, pushing him out the room.

John watched them recede down the corridor. “What happened?”

“I don't know,” Aeryn answered. “We were talking and suddenly he just doubled over.”

“You were talking like _that_?”

Aeryn zipped up her shirt. “You know how hot I get nursing.”

Oh. John closed his eyes. “Were you sweating?”

“Probably. Why?”

He sighed. “That's what she used to...”

Aeryn covered her mouth. “I didn't think of that.”

–

Scorpius had just gone to the kitchen to fetch him some water when Sun came into the coolant room carrying the ba—Mirwa.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“I wanted to apologize for imposing on you... with my breasts.”

“You were hardly imposing; it's not your fault I'm apparently defective.”

She smiled, sliding down the wall to sit next to him. “You didn't get to be a Peacekeeper captain by being defective.”

“No, according to you, I got to be a Peacekeeper captain on my knees.”

Aeryn looked at him sharply. “I'm trying to be nice to you, which is very difficult given everything you've put me through over the cycles. I'd like to think you'd afford me with the same respect and not throw things I've said back in my face.”

Cowed, Braca let his head rest against the wall. “I never recreated with a commanding officer before Scorpius.” He didn't know why it was suddenly so important for her to know that.

“I know.”

“It was a foolish unit rumor. I don't know how it got started.”

“Well, maybe,” Aeryn said delicately, “someone heard that the fatality drive was disengaged when you flew your final simulation and thought that was the most likely explanation.”

Braca gawped at her. “The fatality drive was disengaged because if I failed the science corps was going to vivisect me.”

“Then I imagine that whoever made up that rumor would feel rather apologetic about it.”

He smiled over at her. “Thank you for today.”

“I did what I could live with.”

He looked down at Mirwa still in Aeryn's arms. “Do you think she's safe in here?”

“She should be; she's Sebacean.”

“That's the problem,” Braca said, taking Mirwa from Aeryn and wrapping her in his jacket on the floor. “She's not. Not entirely.” He lowered the blankets around her ears. “You see that mark? Vestigial external eustachia. Found only in the boars from which heppel glands are extracted. Grayza covered hers with make-up.”

“The gland infects genetic material.”

Braca nodded. “It also accelerates cellular degeneration.” He ran a finger down Mirwa's cheek. “She'll have maybe eighty cycles.”

“It doesn't have to be that way.” She grabbed his hand. “Four cycles ago, I was infected with Pilot DNA. I started to turn into a Pilot, but we were able to reverse it. There are treatments, gene therapy...”

“And the gland—do you think it can be removed?”

“I don't know... but since I left the Peacekeepers, I've seen things I never thought possible.”

–

When Scorpius returned with Braca's water, Crichton was waiting in the corridor outside the coolant room. “Aeryn and Braca are having a sisterly chat.”

“Despite what your preconceived Human notions may have you believe, Braca is no one's sister.”

“Fine, a siblingly chat.”

“Siblingly?”

“I know it's not a real word, but you seem to have moral objections to the other ones I know.”

“You could have said 'friendly,'” Scorpius said out of a sincere enjoyment of Human-bating.

“Aeryn and Braca aren't friends,” Crichton sputtered. “They might be if it weren't for that little secret you've been keeping for god knows how long.”

“While I'm certain that Officer Sun would be sympathetic to Braca, I doubt that the revelation of the conditions of Braca's discharge would inspire a friendship between the two of them.”

“The condition of Braca's... what does that have to with anything?”

Scorpius was beginning to suspect that he and Crichton were holding two completely different secrets. “John,” he said silkily, “what exactly did you read in Braca's file?”

Crichton smirked, coming to the same realization as Scorpius had microts before. That neural clone was again proving more beneficial to Crichton than Scorpius. “Nothing I'm gonna tell you. Now, if you're willing to trade...”

“A trade is out of the—”

The door to the coolant room slid open and out came Aeryn and Braca carrying the infant (who somehow, in the middle of a Peacekeeper hallway, transformed into _their_ infant, hence the running and hiding in Moya's starburst chamber).

“We have a problem,” Aeryn said. (“Just one?” Crichton muttered.) “Babies need to eat.”

“Quite frequently, apparently,” Braca said.

Crichton commented thoughtlessly, “Too bad she's not half-Kalish.”

If the awkwardness of the silence that ensued could be harnessed as a power source, the cesium industry would go out of business.

Aeryn coughed. “Sebacean infant formula can be purchased, but the nearest vendor could be days away. Seeing as we're unwilling to let a baby starve, even if it is the offspring of our enemies...”

“You're stuck wet nursing for them until they can find formula.” Crichton sounded about as enthused about sharing his female's loomas with another as anyone could have expected.

“I have some expressed milk frozen in the refrigeration unit that you can use for tonight,” she said to Braca, “but tomorrow you'll need to come back over here.”

“Does the milk need to be refrigerated?” Braca asked.

“Yes.”

“That,” Scorpius said, “may pose a problem. Our refrigeration unit is... occupied.”

“Your whole fridge,” Crichton said incredulously. “What? You got a body in there?”

Scorpius found this was one of those times when silence would do less harm than an explanation.

Crichton sighed. “Of course you have a dead body in your fridge. Of course you do. You're lucky we're not UT CPS, we'd take your kid away for that.”

Before Crichton finished his sentence, Braca had a pulse pistol pointed at his head. In rapid succession, Aeryn took aim at Braca and Scorpius, Scorpius at Aeryn and Crichton, and Crichton at Braca and Scorpius.

“Is there a commode on th—” the Yenen said, coming down the corridor. “The frell? You've got to be kidding me. There are babies on board!” She pointed at Braca. “He's holding a baby!”

“ _He_ pulled on a gun on me!” Crichton explained.

“You threatened to take her away,” Braca said.

“I did not!”

“You said, 'You're lucky we're not yuti cepice, we'd take your kid away for that.' I don't know what uti cepice—”

“U-T C-P-S! It's an acronym. Uncharted Territories Child Protective Services—a completely made-up thing I said as a joke. A joke!”

“If I can intervene here for a microt,” Staanz said, “maybe we can all agree not to joke about various groups, whether they be real or not, taking our children from us? Especially around Stark. He's very sensitive about this sort of thing.”

“Stark.” Aeryn blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Is sensitive about everything.”

“Yeah, but you don't see him out in the middle of the night pointing guns at people, do you? We are adults, not children having dustups on the holopark.” Staanz edged closer to them with her hands in the air. “Now, let's look each other in the eye and agree that this was a misunderstanding caused by fatigue, quick tempers, and Crichton being stupid and not funny. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Agreed.”

“Agreed.”

John shot Aeryn a betrayed scowl. “Agreed, but I will have you know I'm very smart and very funny.”

“Alright,” Staanz started, “now let's just lower all our weapons. Very good. Put them back in their holsters. Great. Now let's bring it in for a group hug. No. That's fine. Didn't think you were going to go for that anyway.” Staanz clapped Scorpius and Aeryn on the shoulder. “And that is what we call 'conflict mediation.' I took a seminar on it,” she said with a streak of pride. She turned to Aeryn. “Where's the nearest bathroom?”

“Tier nine.”

“Thank you.” She gave Scorpius and Aeryn's shoulders a squeeze before heading down the hall toward tier nine.

“That was,” Scorpius said, “interesting to say the least.”

John scratched the back of his head. “Listen, me and Aeryn, we don't want to steal your evil baby. We'll make sure it doesn't starve and your weird little family unit can stay here tonight and use our fridge, but we don't want your demon spawn.”


	6. Project Manpain

_“They're messages I get... you know, from the higher powers, whoever they may be. You know... it's my gift!”  
“If that was my gift, I'd return it.”_  
—Doyle and Cordelia, “Lonely Hearts,” _Angel_

–

 

John got an unreasonable amount of sleep the night before. Between D's fussing, Stark's light baby crying every five minutes, some crazy-ass dreams, and just knowing Scorpius and Braca were on board probably doing some weird sex thing while their evil baby (and let's be honest, there was no way that kid wasn't gonna grow up evil) was in the room, John got maybe two arns of sleep. If that. By the time he stumbled into the kitchen (after taking a shower and getting dressed because god forbid he be able to walk around in his shorts in his own damn house), John badly needed a cup of space coffee. (Four cycles out here and he still couldn't pronounce its real name.)

And of course when he got in there, Scorpy and Braca were helping themselves to some food cubes and looking like they'd slept for years. “You are entirely too awake for someone who spent the night taking care of a two-month-old.”

“We've trained our bodies to only require two arns of sleep a night,” Braca said.

“Right. Because that's completely normal.”

–

Staanz woke feeling remarkably well-rested all things considered. (All things being a Hynerian stand-off in the hallway and an apparently nocturnal newborn.) She was about to go fetch herself and the yenling some brekky when she noticed the faint orange circle surrounding the baby. He didn't seem to be moving. Or breathing. “Stark!” She shook him less-than-gently on the shoulder.

Stark shot up straight in bed. “Who's dying?”

“No one's dying. At least, I don't think anyone dying. I think—I think you froze the baby.”

–

John retreated to his bedroom following breakfast, nominally to take a nap, but he found himself moping about the gigantic, _Star Wars_ -y secret he discovered the day before. Normally, he would never keep something like this from Aeryn, but given that Scorpius didn't know about it, John suspected that what he read on Braca's chart wasn't true or that he read it wrong or that there were two other Peacekeepers running around named Xhalax Sun and Talyn Lyczac. All that (even the last one, which John knew was a stretch) made more sense than Aeryn and Braca (of all people!) being siblings without Scorpy knowing. Scorpius knew _everything_ (including another secret about Braca that John couldn't even think about right then). 

He couldn't tell Aeryn. Not until he was sure. He knew how badly she wanted just a piece of her parents, how devastated she was when she thought her father found her, how often she had nightmares about Xhalax falling... He couldn't dangle something like this in front of her just to rip it away.

He had to know for certain before he told Aeryn. Braca would probably go ahead and stomp on her heart anyway, but at least John wouldn't be the one hurting her.

The problem was he had no way of confirming what he saw in the genetic vault. The data chip he swiped of Braca's file was encrypted as frell and he didn't have a clue as to how to compare their DNA. He needed help. He needed someone to bounce ideas off of. He needed someone he could trust with this secret.

Stark was immediately out of the question. Secrets tended to make him break out in hives.

Staanz was a strong, if unlikely, choice, but after two days she still had no idea who Braca was and besides, she called John stupid.

Pilot was smart enough, but he would tell Aeryn immediately out of loyalty. (John might have been a bit jealous that Aeryn's best friend was on board and all of his were dead.)

That left...

“Frell no.”

Scorpius was the logical choice. He was a scientist, he had as much of an interest in keeping this a secret as John (Braca was about five minutes away from a complete nervous breakdown and Scorpius actually seemed to care about his well-being now), but John couldn't force himself to trust him. As a rule, John only trusted Scorpius when he absolutely had to, like when Aeryn's life, or his own, or the entire universe was on the line. Now? John couldn't muster up the adrenaline to overcome his flight response.

Why had it been easier to trust someone who was all in his head?

–

“I need you to tell me everything you know about Stykera,” Aeryn demanded, apropos of nothing.

Scorpius folded his hands on the table. “Why the sudden interest?”

“We need to know what's happening to Stark.” Scorpius spied the Banik behind Aeryn, shaking his head, refusing to take his infant from Staanz. He was paler than usual. “He doesn't have any control over his powers. Last night, he trapped his baby in a bubble like Grayza's security detail. We think he did it while sleeping.”

“So knocking him unconscious would be ineffective at controlling his powers.”

“Right. And before either of you suggest it.” Aeryn glared at Braca. “Killing him won't work either. From what he's told me, I don't think Stark can be killed.”

“How is that possible?” Braca asked.

“He can die; he's not immortal, but those visions he has of people dying, including himself, allow him to change things so that no one dies. If either of you tried to kill him right now, he would stop you. Depending on how far those visions spread, you could have tried to kill him a hundred times by now and you would have no idea.”

“And you think I'm somehow responsible for this?” Scorpius asked.

“No, but you've put more Stykera in the Aurora Chair than any other Peacekeeper in history. You know things about them.”

“Only what they knew about themselves.”

“And that is?”

“You know as well as anyone that I am not a man who gives away anything for free.”

Aeryn sniggered. “Would you like me to nurse you, too?”

“I have many _interests_ , but that is not one of them. No, I want to know John's secret.”

“To what? His hair care regimen? Because I assure it's not as interesting as he lets on.”

“John has a secret. One that he might even be keeping from you. And I need to know what it is.”

“If John has a secret, he has a damn good reason to keep it a secret, especially from you. You're going to help me—you're going to help Stark, because that man, the man who you captured, imprisoned, and tortured to the brink of insanity—the man whose people you've thrown into space like ship waste—the man whose first love you may as well have killed with your bare hands—that man now has the power to kill effortlessly and very little knowledge of how to control it. And if you do not start getting on his good side soon, you risk your life, Braca's life, and Mirwa's life. That is not a threat; that is reality.”

Scorpius hated giving something for nothing and he was rather curious about that secret, but he could recognize the danger in a completely fahrbot, un-killable Banik with superpowers hating him. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“Stykerism is a genetic anomaly amongst Baniks. Like all Baniks, the majority of their form resides in another realm, but a Stykera's essence cannot be contained in that realm or in their corporeal form. For them to survive, their life force must be vented.”

“By removing their mask?”

“Correct. Most Baniks do not wear masks; their faces heal over during the light of childbirth. I had assumed this is what happened when Stark shared the essence of the last Eidolon.”

“But not anymore?”

“No, I believe Stark is still Stykera, but he can no longer vent his energy in three-dimensional space.”

“So he's venting it in the fourth dimension: time.”

“That's what I believe.”

“What else do you know?”

“Not much more than Stark does, I'm afraid. Stykera are a notoriously secretive order. Their power is very easily used for others' gain, so they do not reveal their secrets to outsiders, particularly those with spiritual powers. I imagine Stark only allowed himself to associate so closely with Zhaan because she had no ties to the rest of the Delvian see.”

“Grasshopper,” Crichton called over comms. “You wanna hear a secret? Meet me in the Batcave.”

–

By way of greeting, Crichton thrust a hideous floral fabric in Scorpius' face. “Put this on.”

“What is it?”

“It's a shirt. Put it on.”

“Why?”

“Because that's the only way this is going to work.”

Scorpius took the shirt and dressed himself in it. He didn't know what Crichton was getting out of this, but if he had to guess, he imagined Crichton was getting off on humiliating him by clothing him in loud fabric. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Sadly, yes.” He pulled two stacks of metal strips from his back pockets. “These are cue cards. Read from this pile if you agree with me. This pile is for disagreeing. Feel free to riff once you get a feel for the material.” He handed the cards over. “Okay?”

Scorpius looked down at the first card in the agreement pile. “ _Right-o, buckaroo._ ”

Crichton pumped his fist in the air. “This is gonna work. Okay, now pretend we're at the beach. I don't have your hat, but I think you'll be fine. We're under an umbrella by the snow cone stand.” From the information he retrieved from the neural chip, Scorpius understood John Crichton's sexual appetites to be rather tame (Scarran induced hallucinations notwithstanding), but this scenario was far stranger than anything Scorpius had ever encountered. And that was before Crichton mimed eating a handheld food Scorpius guessed was a snow cone. “So, Harv, I got a secret—well, I think I've got a secret. Remember the other day when we were in the genetic vault and Braca was having a Peacekeeper panic attack?”

“ _Correctamundo_ ,” Scorpius read.

“Well, I took a look at Braca's file and Xhalax Sun and Talyn Lyczac were listed as his mother and father which would make him Aeryn's brother.”

Scorpius dropped his pantomime snow cone.

“Do you think Scorpius knows about this?”

“ _No way, Jose._ Even his clearance wasn't that high.”

“Can those records be trusted?”

“ _Totally, dude._ No one has ever successfully falsified information stored in the vault. Those who have tried were immediately detected and terminated by the console.”

Crichton sighed. “Can my memories be trusted?”

Scorpius estimated how much damaged he'd done to Crichton's brain over the cycles. “ _Negativo._ ”

“I saved Braca's file to a data chip but it's locked up like Fort Knox.”

“Triskel's Pilot is skilled at data retrieval, but that could take days. Genetic comparison would be faster.”

“D'you know how to do that?”

“I'm certain I could I figure it out.”

–

Braca set the timer and placed it on the kitchen counter. “Go.”

“What do you want me to do?” Stark asked.

“Anything. Make it go faster, slower, stop all together. I don't care.”

“I told you! I can't do it unless someone is in danger.”

“You did it in your sleep.”

“I had some very distressing dreams last night.”

Braca rolled his eyes, tightening his jaw. “Just _pretend_ someone's in danger.”

“Okay.” Stark narrowed his eye at the timer. He stood like that for a thirty-eight microts with no change to the timer. “What am I supposed to think about?”

As a commanding officer, Braca would have berated any one of his Peacekeepers for requiring so much direction, but he was a Peacekeeper no longer and therefore free to indulge in his sadistic tendencies as much as pleased. (The weeken following their dismissal, Braca only removed Scorpius' collar out of fear that it would become embedded... although that thought was stimulating.) Placing a target's loved ones in danger happened to be one Braca's favorite torture techniques. “Close your eye and focus on my voice. In your mind, visualize what I'm saying but keep the timer in the back of your mind. Ready?”

“Yes.”

“You're in a cold, dark hallway that seems to go on forever. You don't know where you are or how you got there. Your mind is fuzzy from some kind of tranquilizer. Your side aches from the puncture wound made by the trank dart. All you can hear is water dripping down the walls and the sound of a baby crying. You run toward the sound, but it only seems to get farther and farther away. At last you reach the end of the hall. There's a man standing alone in the darkness. It looks like he's holding something. 'Do you remember me?' he asks, but you can't hear him over the baby crying. The lights flicker on. The man is familiar to you—the first man who ever owned you and he's carrying your child. Behind him—” Braca scrunched up his face in annoyance. He didn't even get to the best part. “You can open your eye.”

Stark looked close to tears—moreso than usual. “What happened to my baby?”

“Look at the timer.”

999 microts.

“I did it! I saved him!”

“Good.” Braca was always generous with praise. “Now do it without killing the man.”

Across the kitchen, Staanz and Aeryn pored over what information they could gather about Stykera and time travel—a little from Moya and Triskel's databanks and a lot from Zhaan's things. Apart from the herbs and tinctures Jool needed to make medicine and the few items Chiana and Rygel took with them as keepsakes, Zhaan's cell remained as it was—a shrine to a Delvian goddess. Her collection of antique spiritual texts proved the most helpful even if they were hard to read under the multiple citations she'd made—most of which looked they were written while Zhaan was in a trance.

“Do you know how much I could sell these for if she hadn't scribbled all over them?” Staanz huffed.

Aeryn grinned. “I don't think Zhaan was too concerned with their monetary value.”

“Of course she wasn't. She was one those _spiritual_ types.”

“I wouldn't think you'd have a problem with that.”

“I don't. I'm a woman of the Goddess myself, but I've never had the privilege of sitting around for days meditating. I didn't even know there were people who did that until I left Iena. Even our holy people did their share of the work.”

“Iena?” The name sounded vaguely familiar.

“My home planet. It was near the edge of Nebari space before the culling.”

“Culling? It was a drought planet?”

“Yeah. Peacekeepers scorched it cycles ago for the kinetic energy.”

“I'm sorry.”

Staanz shrugged. “It was a drazzy planet anyway. I was lucky to get out young. Most folks dried up with the land.”

“Your parents?”

“Lung weevils. I hopped a freighter as soon as they—” Staanz's eyes went wide as she dropped the book she was holding. “I've seen something like this before.”

“What?” Aeryn flipped the book on its side, reading its spine, “' _Delvian Temporal Dynamics_ '?”

“No, no.” Staanz grabbed the book, turning to the first page. “Look. The sketch in the margin.”

“That's Stark.”

“There's one on every page. Watch.” Staanz closed the book and ran her thumb along its edge, turning the pages rapidly. As the pages flipped, the sketches on each page fused into one moving image: Stark staring at a seed as it grew into a chrystherium and then wilted before repeating in reverse. A seed, a flower in bloom, a shriveled plant, a flower in bloom, a seed. All while Stark watched. Looking up from the book, Staanz asked, “What do you think it means?”

Aeryn didn't know much about art. “Er, well... Stark obviously represents... Stark.... And the dying flower is Zhaan. She was a Delvian. And he watched her die.”

Staanz cocked her head and flipped through the sketches again. “Were they outside?”

“No. They were—”

“On Moya. And Stark was in the damn corridor when she died. In the sketch, he's outside.”

Aeryn looked at the book again. Below Stark's feet was grass and above him stars. But not just any stars. “That's my star.”

“What?”

“The biggest one. Crichton named it after me.”

“Are you sure?”

Aeryn smiled bittersweetly. “I'd know that star anywhere... I don't know how Zhaan would have known about it. Crichton only ever showed his starcharts to me.”

“Maybe she was doing one of those spirit painting things. Except, you know, a spirit flip book.” She looked up at Aeryn, mouth agape. “Do you know how marketable those would be? All the little Delvian kidlets would want one for Khalaaneid. There's money to be made here.” Staanz flipped through the book eagerly. “'Course this one is hardly realistic.”

“What do you mean?”

“The stars don't move. Chrystherium takes cycles to bloom—I had a booming chrystherium crop for a microt there—but the constellations aren't changing. Your star stays in the same place for cycles.”

“Maybe he's on the planet's pole.”

“Or maybe...” Staanz craned her neck, looking across the room at Stark and the timer. “...it doesn't take cycles to grow chystherium after all.”

“Did someone say 'chrystherium'?” Scorpius said, coming into the kitchen. Crichton was at his side.

“Oh my Goddess,” Staanz giggled into her palm. “That was just like in a holo serial.”

Crichton placed his hands on Aeryn's shoulders, resting his chin on her head. “How's the study group goin'?”

At the same time, Scorpius stepped behind Braca. “How is the subject performing?”

Locking their eyes from across the room, Crichton and Scorpius pulled a few strands of hair from their partner's scalps.

“Ow!” Aeryn yipped, batting Crichton away.

Braca moaned softly, leaning back into Scorpius.

“Well,” Aeryn said, rubbing her head, “Staanz has found a possible sideline in spirit flip book publishing.”

“Using guided imagery, the subject has been able to stop time and make it pass faster—in both directions,” Braca said.

“In _both_ directions?” John asked.

“Yes. Forward and backward.”

Crichton laughed mirthlessly, ramping up into one of his manic rants. “Stark can go back in time. That's great. And you didn't think to tell any of us?”

“He just did it.”

“Here?” John grabbed Stark by the shoulders, shaking him with every word. “You went back in time here where our kids are?”

“No!” Stark cried. “I stayed here; the timer went back.”

“The timer?”

“The subject—” Braca corrected himself. “Stark appears to be able to rewind time, keeping the objects within a given time bubble stationary in three dimensional space.”

“I don't know why you're so angry.” Stark yanked himself out of John's grip. “You've seen me do it before.”

“On the Memorial Planet, right,” John said. “View-Master plus Stykera face equals hello Sub-Officer Dacon!”

“You met Dacon?” an envious Braca asked Aeryn.

Aeryn shrugged. “He was a bit of a disappointment.”

“And you!” John turned his wild eyes to Scorpius. “You know all about time travel don'tcha? What was it? 'If events are nudged closely enough to course, they restructure themselves.' You _knew_ I was gonna go back in time by wormhole. Didja know about this? Didja know Stark was going to turn into a frelling TARDIS? Is that why you put him in the chair, the chair! So he could come here and put all of us—all of our kids in danger? Is that why?” John whipped out Winona, aiming it at Scorpius' throat, which had the cascading effect of making Braca point his pulse pistol at John, Aeryn point hers at Braca, Scorpius point his at Aeryn, and Staanz hide under the table.

“Crichton,” Scorpius growled, “I assure you I had no idea—” Scorpius stopped abruptly, lifting his empty hands up to eye level. “Where did my pulse pistol go?”

John, Aeryn, and Braca found themselves similarly unarmed. “Stark,” they snapped.

“I had to do something!”

“So, you froze time and stole our weaponry?” Aeryn asked. “And—” She lifted up an empty plate. “—my toast.”

Stark wrung his hands. “I got hungry.”

“Warping spacetime does that to a guy.” John cupped Stark's cheek. “Stark, buddy, you got to stop doing that.”

“I don't know if I can. Scorpius said—”

“Time travel is dangerous. You could rewrite our entire reality. If you go back in time, step on a butterfly, sneeze, whatever, all of this—all of us could vanish. You go back too far? You and Staanz never meet. You never get married. Your baby's never born.”

Stark grabbed the back of Crichton's head with a trembling hand. “How do I stop it?”

“I don't know, but we'll figure it out.”

“Crichton,” Scorpius said, “I don't think this is as simple as you imagine.”

“I don't care what you—”

“While I would hate to interrupt,” Pilot said over the clamshell, “what will no doubt be a highly productive shouting match... I believe I may have found something helpful. A recording—from Zhaan.”

“From Zhaan?” Stark asked quietly.

“Yes. Taken a short time before her death... Shall I?”

Stark nodded wordlessly and a grainy image of Zhaan replaced Pilot's face on the clamshell. She smiled fleetingly before being overcome with tears. “Goddess help me.” She collected herself somewhat and looked the camera head on. “The past few cycles, I have tried to be the person you all believe I am. One of the greatest gifts I have been given in this life is the way you look at me—the faith and trust you have in me as a person and a pa'u. At times, this faith saved my soul... yet I have betrayed that trust in ways none of you could possibly understand.” She took a breath. “I'm making this recording because you need to know what I did, but I could not bear losing the person you think I am.” She swallowed. “I was not alone in returning Aeryn to this realm. I used Stark's energy to reach her... I know what I did was...” She was wracked with sobs followed by coughs. “I would do it again, but I... I fear there may be residual spiritual and,” she closed her eyes, “ _psychological_ effects.” She smiled gently at the camera. “Stark, my love, I'm sorry.” She mouthed, _I'm sorry,_ and ended the recording.

All eyes turned to Stark, who covered his face with his fists, falling to his knees sobbing. Everyone appeared equally unsure of what to do with an uncontrollably powerful man ugly-crying in the middle of the kitchen—except for Staanz, who was at his side in an instant, holding him against her chest.

–

As stupefying as working with DNA was, John was glad to have a place to be other than the kitchen with Stark's emotional explosion and one-man guilt parade. The more he learned about Stark, the more John felt like he deserved to be trapped in a video game for all eternity. He hadn't felt this much guilt for things he never did since he saw _Amistad_. Even with the shirt, Scorpius wasn't much help at processing what the frell just happened.

“What was _that_ all about? I get the betrayal angle, but what—”

“Crichton,” Scorpius snapped. “Do you want me to compare these samples or does your need for emotional validation outweigh all other concerns?”

John stuck his tongue out at the back of Scorpius' head. “Throw you back in the dumpster,” he mumbled.

Scorpius sighed, placing the petri dish on the apothecary table, turning to face John. “Here.” Scorpius pulled a metal sphere about the size of a softball from his pocket, pressing it into John's hand. “Amuse yourself.”

John looked at the sphere, turning it from side to side. “What's it do?”

“It's a ball, John. It rolls.”

John huffed and plopped himself down a few motra from Moya's hammond bulkhead. “ _It's a ball, John. It rolls_ ,” he parroted.

“You don't have to be here for this. I'm sure I can manage without your notable contribution.”

John shook his head, rolling the ball into the bulkhead. “I gotta stay. Gotta make sure you're not fudging the results.”

“How exactly might you do that?” Scorpius paused, peering into the microscope. “You have no idea what I'm doing.”

“Neither do you, so nah-nah-nah-nah-nah.” John caught the ball, sending it back into the bulkhead.

Scorpius' shoulders slumped. “I know what I'm doing.”

“Right. And that's why it's been—oh—an arn since you started on something that took Zhaan microts.”

“Isolating Aeryn's genetic signature wouldn't take so long if you had retrieved a better sample. Are you certain this is Aeryn's hair?”

“You know, I think I mighta grabbed it off of one of the other dozen people with long black hair on board. Of course, it's Aeryn's hair!”

“Then you must have contaminated it somehow.”

“ _I_ contaminated it? You're the one—”

“Nothing I'm doing could have introduced Pilot DNA into the sample. That was your doing.”

“Pilot DNA?” John hung his head. “Frell.”

“What?”

“Some... DNA mad scientist tried to turn Aeryn into a Pilot hybrid. We were able to reverse it, but she can still...” He mimed pressing buttons on Pilot's station. “...fly Moya. I thought she was just remembering, but...”

“Pilot chromosomes remain in her genetic signature.”

“Yeah.” He looked up at Scorpius. “I thought you would've known all this. Gotten it from the chip.”

Scorpis shook his head. “The neural chip's protocols were highly targeted. While I no doubt would have found a use for that information, ultimately it is best that the Peacekeepers do not know.” He crouched down next to Crichton. “If Aeryn's knowledge about Leviathans was passed down to D'Argo... combined with your wormhole knowledge, D'Argo would be a highly desirable specimen.”

“I know. And from one specimen to another...” John pointed between himself and Scorpius. “I'm not gonna let the Peacekeepers or the Scarrans or whoever near my kid. And if that means killing you, then—”

“So be it. Keep in mind, John, that I have a _specimen_ of my own to protect from the Peacekeepers.”

“That's right. Mirwa has two daddies.” John stood using Scorpius' shoulder to pull himself up. “You never struck me as the paternal type.”

Scorpius stood, facing away from Crichton. “He wants it so badly. So do I.”

Unaccustomed to that level of humanity in Scorpius, John didn't know quite how to respond. “So... the sample. Can you still do the comparison?”

“No. That would take skills far beyond my own.”

“Frell.”

–

Stark had calmed down enough to progress from the incoherent weeping stage to the pacing-and-raving stage of grief. Over the past three cycles, Staanz had gottten to know the Banik stages of grief far better than she would have liked.

“Everyone—everyone... My entire life! Plant the chystherium, Banik! Mine, Banik! The chair, Banik! _The chair, the chair!_ Pass the Eidolon, Banik! ...I thought Zhaan was different but she-she...” Stark held up his hand, a translucent bubble radiating from his fingertips uncontrollably. “She did this to me.”

“You don't know that, love. It could have been anything.”

“No!” They'd been married too long for Staanz to flinch. “I—I... She...”

“Breathe.”

Stark took a breath, counting to six (ten was a bit much to expect right now). “Delvians can sense the time continuum during a mind link... We did it together once. We stopped time. Just like I can do now.”

“And you think she gave that power when she resurrected Aeryn?”

Stark nodded. “I was unconscious when she... I couldn't stop myself from taking it.”

“If that's what happened, how come all this didn't start until now? It's been five cycles since—”

Stark covered his mouth, crumbling to the floor crying again.

Staanz winced. “What's wrong?”

“She-she... I-I... We-we...”

“Breathe.”

Stark got to three this time. “On Natagahi, it wasn't a time bubble; it was me! I... I _trapped_ you. And Zhaan—she led me there. None of this—none of this has been choice _for either of us_.”

“Stark, Stark.” She crawled over to him on her knees. “Listen to me.” She took his face in her hands. “Do you remember how we first met? You were standing on that ledge talking to yourself—”

“I was talking to Zhaan.”

“Right. And I saw you and I smiled. And you saw me and you blushed and then—”

“I kidnapped you and forced you to live me with and bear my young.”

“None of that. If I wanted out of that bubble, I could have smothered you in your sleep.”

“You knew it was me maintaining the bubble?”

“I knew it wasn't me! I figured the bubble would dissipate if I offed you... I could have killed you any time, but I _chose_ not to. That was my choice.”

Stark wiped his tears in his shirt cuffs. “You really thought about killing me?”

“Yeah.”

“You're not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“No, course not.” She dropped a kiss on Stark's forehead.

–

Aeryn didn't know how she got roped into watching the babies while everyone else was off doing more interesting and less vomit-intensive things. To his credit, Braca took his offspring with him to wherever he went. Of course, that was probably out of paranoia and possessiveness rather than a genuine desire to be helpful. Ever since John's dunderheaded comment last night (she told him that making references to things no one understood was going to get him killed someday), Braca wouldn't let Mirwa out of his sight. Aeryn understood the impulse and more immediately appreciated not having to watch over his offspring as well. Stark and Staanz had valid reasons for leaving their narl in the nursery. Stark did just learn that the women he'd put up on a pedestal for cycles exploited his power to violate the natural order of life and death. If Aeryn discovered Crichton had done something similar... she wouldn't want D in the same system, let alone the same room. Nevertheless, Aeryn was bored and tired watching their odd little offspring. She swore it hadn't blinked in a quarter of an arn.

When John and Scorpius walked past the nursery, shoulder to shoulder whispering conspiratorially—never a good sign—Aeryn called out, “John.”

“Yeah, babe?”

She pointed to D. “Father your child.”

John shrugged at Scorpius. “Duty calls.”

“Where's Braca?” Scorpius asked.

“I don't know,” Aeryn said. “I haven't seen him since we watched Zhaan's recording... What are you wearing?”

Scorpius looked down, grimacing at the garish shirt he wore before stripping it off and throwing it to John. “If you see him, tell him to comm me.”

“What?” John dangled a toy over D's head. “Your Vulcan mind meld stop working?”

“Apparently...” Scorpius trudged down the corridor.

“Trouble in paradise?” Aeryn asked.

“Oh, yeah.”

–

Scorpius tried the coolant room first, but not finding Braca there he began a cursory search of Moya, knowing that Braca wouldn't be reckless enough to leave on his own. Although, given the events of the past few days, Scorpius was beginning to doubt Braca's judgment. Scorpius shook his head, ridding himself of thought of Braca's possible abandonment and comforting himself with the knowledge that he would destroy everything in his path until they were reunited. For good measure, he kicked a DRD idling in the corridor.

From a door to his left, a baby cried out at the ruckus. “Frell,” Scorpius mumbled. He didn't know much about the keeping of infants, but he knew that crying was undesirable. His only responsibility in co-parenting thus far was, to quote Braca, “Don't make her cry.” He'd already failed in this duty once the night before by apparently breathing too loudly. Scorpius could hardly help that he breathed loudly (but nonetheless found himself very self-conscious about it all of a sudden). He considered circling back around once to disguise from Braca that he was the one to disturb the baby before realizing he could just blame it on Crichton. Living with other people—however temporarily—did have its benefits.

Scorpius opened the door behind which the baby caterwauled and noticed—first—that the room's dimensions were roughly five by six motras—second—that Braca looked like utter dren, slumped on the floor, rocking the baby listlessly.

“Braca.” Braca looked up but didn't meet Scorpius' gaze. “Crichton kicked a DRD,” Scorpius blurted out as if this explained everything. He awkwardly settled onto the floor next Braca. “You weren't answering comms... or the implant.”

“I didn't feel like being at your beck and call.”

If Scorpius wasn't mistaken, that was sass. “You don't have to be at my beck and call... but I would _appreciate_ knowing you're not lying dead somewhere.”

“I would've appreciated knowing that last night when you ran off.”

“I came when you called me. That's what we do.”

“No, that's what _I_ do.”

Scorpius cupped Braca's chin. “I told you things would be different now.”

“Then be different,” Braca hissed. “Stop frelling around with Crichton and be with me. Take care of me—rwa.”

Scorpius tipped Braca's face downward and licked a stripe from the tip of the man's nose to his hairline. From the salinity, Scorpius could tell: “You're not well.”

“No.” Braca turned his head away. “I keep thinking about...” He closed his eyes. “I don't even know how many times she... It all blurs together.”

Scorpius could have said something completely asinine like, “She's dead. She can't hurt you anymore,” but he knew from Tauza and Wolesh that destroying the person who harmed you doesn't necessarily heal you. He brushed his thumb over the closely shaved hair above Braca's ear. “I can give you my rage, but I sense that's not what you need.”

“I don't know what I need.”

–

“You want _me_ to name your baby?” Pilot asked.

Staanz adjusted her hold on the infant in question. “Yes. You don't mind?”

“No, not at all. I'm honored, but isn't there someone else on board better suited for this?”

“It's traditional for Banik parents to ask someone they trust to name their baby.” Stark pulled on his sleeves uneasily. “I like John and Aeryn, but...” He scratched at the scar where his mask used to rest.

“I understand.” Pilot stared down at the child resting in Staanz' arms. “May I hold him?”

“Of course.” Staanz awkwardly passed him into Pilot's claws. “There. Support the—”

Pilot elevated the baby's head. “I've done this before.” He didn't mention that yesterday he was supervising her feeble attempts at babysitting D'Argo and she was now giving him directions. “He's a very lovely child.” Pilot also didn't mention that all anthropoid biped offspring looked equally undercooked to him. “He has your eyes, Staanz.” Eyes plural—and open, unusual at this age for a Banik. “Are Yenen genetics typically this dominant?”

“I wouldn't know. Most of us never made it off-planet to interbreed.”

Ah. “I think 'Zev' would suit him very well.”

“What does that mean?” Stark asked.

“Pilot... In my species, all of our names mean Pilot. 'Zev,' in particular, means 'Pilot who travels very far.'”

“A lovely name for a boy.” Staanz' smile faltered. “It is a boy's name, right?”

“Yes, roughly. Pilots have over a hundred genders... With outworlders, we find it best to approximate.”

“I sympathize.”

–

“That was significantly less traumatic than I anticipated,” Scorpius stated, staring down at his handiwork.

“Generally, the goal is to apply more powder to that baby than yourself.” Braca dusted off Scorpius' cooling suit with a receiving blanket. “But the primary purpose was met.”

“Will she sleep willingly now?”

“I don't know. We may have to apply coercion.” Braca picked up the baby from the floor and laid her down in the middle of the mattress Scorpius dragged into the cooling room the night before. “Aeryn said they sleep better alongside adults.”

When Scorpius proposed they share their bed with a woman again, this wasn't what he had in mind.

Braca sat down on the mattress. “Crichton said that it also lowers the probability that the baby will die suddenly and for no reason.”

Scorpius dropped onto the mattress. “I was unaware that was a risk.”

“Neither was I. I honestly could have gone without knowing.” Braca lay back on the mattress—pants, jackets, boots, and all. (Scorpius realized last night that Braca was dressed for emergency protocol echo-orange, preparing himself for the constant ups-and-downs of caring for an infant overnight like a Peacekeeper trying to catch a few minutes sleep between enemy blitzes.)

Scorpius mirrored Braca, resting his head on a pillow. “I spoke with Pilot about the commerce planet she found. We should be there by ship's morn. She said there is a Diagnosan on-planet with a promising new assistant who might be of some use to us.”

“You think that they could help Mirwa.”

“And you.”

“I don't need help.”

“Lying to oneself is futile.” Scorpius stretched out as much as he could on a captain-sized mattress with three people on it. “Lying to oneself in the presence of a living lie detector is foolish.”

“If she's fine, I'll be fine.”

“Do you love her?”

Braca locked eyes with him—they were red. “Beyond hope.”

Jealousy surged within Scorpius. Just when he'd come to grips with the realization that no one would ever be for him and Braca what they were for each other, someone came between them, resting in the middle of their bed like a chastity device. (Not that Scorpius and Braca ever did much on the bed anyway.) He extinguished the jealousy, knowing it be a useless emotion in this instance. The interloper could be easily dispatched, but he knew that would destroy Braca and perhaps infanticide would thrust Scorpius over some moral event horizon. (And, although Scorpius would be loath to admit it, a healthy dash of narcissism made killing a child whose circumstances so closely mirrored his own unconscionable. Or maybe he was more moral a man than anyone knew.) Since there was no getting rid of her, Scorpius could only hope to incorporate himself into Braca's newfound obsession—by coming to care for the girl-child as much as he did. (A healthy dash of narcissism eased that decision.) Scorpius had observed such a tactic of winning affection—he didn't pretend that Braca and Sikozu found the minutiae of wormhole science as stimulating as they led on.

Scorpius reached over, picking at Braca's hair. “We will find a cure. If not at this Diagnosan, then the next.”

“And if not there?”

Scorpius smiled. “By then, our reputations will have preceded us and any Diagnosan working in the Uncharted Territories will have a working cure waiting out of self-preservation.”

He followed Braca's captivated gaze down to Mirwa. _Many will die for you, girl-child._


	7. Lifting the Metaphorical Car

_“You know – we Peacekeepers think that we are so remarkable. Soldiers without equal. Precise tacticians. Purebloods. But I've realized – we're not remarkable. We do nothing for love. Not one thing.”_  
—Aeryn Sun, “The Choice” 

–

“Are you certain all that is necessary?” Braca boggled at the list she'd prepared.

“At the bare minimum,” Aeryn replied. “You'll probably need more bottles.”

“How does something so small require so much furniture?”

If Braca was indignant, Stark and Staanz were stupefied. “There's no way we can afford all this right now,” Staanz whispered.

“What happened to the ucuz money?” Stark asked.

“I spent it on bribes trying to find you.”

John poked his head between them, resting his hands on their shoulders. “Don't worry. Me and Aeryn'll take care of it. Think of it as a late wedding present.”

“John...” Stark started.

“You've done a lot for me, Stark,” John said, staring at Aeryn. “It's the least I could do.” He smiled at Stark, then nuzzled their noses together. “Besides...” He stood up straight. “I figure if Scorpy's shelling out the dough for the Diagnosan, I gotta do something to look as generous as the worst person in the Uncharted Territories.”

“Thank you, Crichton,” Scorpius said around bites of food cubes.

“No problem, Harv.” He patted the top of Scorp's head.

“The Diagnosan still has time open, if you want your offspring seen.”

“Nah,” John said. “D's fine. Got all his shots and everything done before we headed out here.”

“Did you get him the vaccines for all your ooman diseases?” Staanz asked.

“No, the healer didn't have those and we figured what are the odds of him catching—what?”

“Nothing.” Staanz wiped her mouth. “Seems a little risky to me. You can't count on hybrid vigor for everything. I mean...” She pointed none-too-subtly to Scorpius.

John smirked. “I'll keep that in mind.”

Aeryn stood from the table. “We'll need to leave soon, if we want to get the supplies before we meet with the Diagnosan. Staanz and Braca can help me bring the children down on the first transport pod, and the rest of you can go down on the second with Scorpius' frozen assets.”

Scorpius nodded. “I'll need the help carrying it.”

“Whoa, whoa.” John held his hands out in front himself. “Why do _I_ have to go with Scorpy? Braca, wouldn't you feel a lot less emasculated if you went instead of staying with the women babysitting?”

“I think I'll manage, Crichton.”

–

John stared deep into Triskel's refrigeration unit. “Who was he? That is a he, right?”

Scorpius pulled open the unit's door, sending the body slouching into his arms. “Stark,” he growled under the weight, “get his waist.”

The Banik crawled underneath and lifted the midsection clear over his head. John forgot how strong he was, what with all his crying. Made sense—he was bred for hard labor. Once the body cleared the unit's door, John slid it shut and grabbed the corpse's legs. “Whose feet am I carrying?”

“Do you really want to know?” Scorpius asked, steering them out of the kitchen.

“Call me old-fashioned, but if I'm gonna be hauling a dead body, I'd like to be on a first name basis with it.”

“Left. _My left_ , Stark... His name was Wolesh.”

“What'd he do to deserve the freezer treatment?”

Pause. “He raped my mother.” The body sagged in the middle. “Stark!”

“Sorry,” Stark murmured.

“This is your father?” John asked.

“Only at the biological level.”

“So, you, what? Tracked him down and killed him?”

“Not exactly. I tracked him down and placed him in my freezer.”

“You couldn't do it?”

“Far from that. I've been ready and willing to kill him for all of my adult life. But death was too good for him.”

Stark stuck his head out from under the body. “You trapped him between life and death?”

“Yes. I seem to recall someone saying that it was particularly unpleasant. Fortunately, freezing a Scarran has the same effect as a cryopod.”

“And you were planning on keeping him in your fridge forever?” John asked.

“I was going to sell him at auction, but then I found something worth bidding on.”

“Stark, you have got the worst luck.”

“I know,” Stark mumbled.

“Pivot,” Scorpius directed. “ _Pivot_.”

“What happens if he defrosts?” John asked.

“He dies. Or we do.”

Their pace picked up noticeably.

“Why did you do it?” Stark asked, his voice muffled by the not-quite-corpse. “You had cycles to kill him, but you didn't.”

“After the war, I realized that my previous method of acquiring justice—”

“Getting revenge,” John cut in.

“—was no longer viable, so I decided to turn my focus from the Scarran race as a whole to the individuals directly responsible. Having already dispatched Tauza, I turned to Wolesh.”

“Did it work?” Stark asked quietly. When Scorpius didn't answer: “Did it make you feel any better?”

Pause. “No.”

They shifted the body along in silence until they came to the transport pod. With a good shove, they got the body inside.

“It's very symbolic.” Stark wiped the ice crystals and bits of frozen Scarran off his hands. “Disposing of your evil father's body to pay for your new baby's surgery.”

–

Ektra was one of the finer commerce planets Aeryn had visited in the Uncharted Territories, which was rather remarkable considering most vendors were selling smuggled goods. There was a degree of organization to the planet's economy that was almost Peacekeeperlike—although the emphasis on conspicuous consumption was more Hynerian. Everything was arranged so that visitors were free to spend as much as money as possible. There were free trams running through the commercial district. Watering stations and latrines were stationed every fifty motras. And customers needn't carry their purchases from store-to-store; the businesses all provided free delivery to home and transport.

The luxuriousness of it all made Aeryn suspicious, but, strapped to her chest, D seemed to be enjoying the sights and sounds. Must have been those Hynerian hormones in utero.

Aeryn's low opinion of the planet was confirmed on high street, where a man brushed past her and Staanz with a muttered, “Tralk.” Intending on giving him a piece of her mind, Aeryn turned around just in time to see Braca trip the man, sending him face-first into the pavement. Aeryn would've protested that she could take care of zannets herself if she didn't suspect Braca did it out of a genuine pleasure in tripping people rather than any chivalric impulse.

“Bunch of snobs on this planet,” Staanz said, hustling down the lane. “Look at 'em. They all think they're hot dren because they're Smuggler's Guild.”

“You have a guild?”

“They do. They wouldn't let me in if it was snowing out. Noity-boity bastards. Watch when we go into a store; the sales clerks will avoid me and Stark like Traskan borderpox.”

In reality, it was quite the opposite. At the baby store, the clerks fawned over Stark and Staanz, but gave nothing but glares to Braca and Scorpius. And clearly not out of an objection to two men of different species raising a child together—Aeryn and John couldn't get served either. It got so bad that Staanz ended up having to buy for everyone. (Disturbed by the attention he was receiving, Stark decided to hide in the middle of a rack of clothes for the duration of their visit.)

Back on the street, Staanz remarked, “No one's ever followed me around a shop like that unless they thought I was shoplifting.”

“They must really hate Peacekeepers,” Stark said.

Yet, at the next store, the staff helped a retired PK tech, but wouldn't look at Braca, Scorpius, John, or Aeryn. The same at the next. It wasn't until they reached the media stall that the four of them received any common courtesy.

“My god,” the clerk gasped, grabbing a stockgirl by the sleeve. “It's them. It's the Hynerian bandits!”

“The Hynerian who?” John asked.

“The Hynerian bandits,” the stockgirl said. “You're the Dominar's followers.”

“Followers? You been talking to Rygel?”

“No, no. Of course not. I could never imagine having audience with Rygel the Magnificent. But I read his memoir. I mean, who hasn't read his memoir?”

“Us,” Aeryn said, “for starters.”

“It's the fastest selling datapod in the Uncharted Territories,” the clerk said disbelievingly.

“And you're in it!” the stockgirl added. “Not you two,” she said to Stark and Staanz. “But the rest of you are. John Crichton and Aeryn Sun and Scorpius and... their Peacekeeper friend.”

“He's not out friend,” John and Aeryn said, just as Braca said, “I'm not their friend.”

“Here.” The clerk passed John a datapod. “It's on the house. And if any of you feel like doing a public appearance here at the store...”

With enough time to take a break before the Diagnosan, they pulled over in one of the city's rest areas to see what exactly Rygel had been saying about his “followers.”

John read aloud the description beneath a remarkably accurate holo of his likeness, “ _John Crichton, the human I rescued single-handedly from a space battle and mentored in his journey to discover wormhole technology._ ”

The next slide contained Aeryn's portrait. “ _Aeryn Sun,_ ” she read, “ _a Peacekeeper female whom over the cycles I taught to connect to her emotions._ ”

Scorpius read his picture's description, “ _Scorpius, the Scarran-Sebacean who served as my deeply-embedded spy after I saved him from a Scarran research facility when he was a boy._ ”

Under Braca's face... “ _Unnamed Peacekeeper male,_ ” Braca read.

“Did he write about me?” Stark asked. “He probably just didn't do a portrait of me because... I was never quite certain he could tell me apart from other Baniks. He kept calling me Striva.”

John patted Stark's shoulder. “Well, you know how old Rygel is. I'm surprised he knew any of our names.”

“Striva's a girl's name.”

Aeryn searched through the index. “The only Baniks mentioned are the ones Scorpius spaced at the Shadow Depository.”

“He talks about the Shadow Depository?” Staanz asked.

“A little. _With the help of my followers, the Hynerian bandits..._ That's us, apparently. _I destroyed a Shadow Depository and all of its contents, no doubt freeing hundreds of planets from war lords and smugglers._ ”

“No wonder the whole planet's pissed at you! You blew up their money. Honestly, I'd be surprised if any commerce planet in the Uncharted Territories sells to you lot.”

“You serious?” John asked.

“As a liver spasm. Interplanetary trade out here's run by smugglers. You're public enemy number one.”

Crichton's fingers caressed his pulse pistol. “Are we safe here?”

“I wouldn't worry. Bodies are bad for business.”

“You learn that at one of your seminars?”

–

The waiting room for the Diagnosan was far more welcoming than the ice planet where Grunschlik had set up shop. Plushy couches, datapods, toys for the kids—the place reminded John of his family doctor's office. It made sense; the folks on this planet could afford to go to the galaxy's premier medical mind for the sniffles. Just like Dr. Geoffrey's office, the Diagnosan kept people waiting past their appointment time.

They were waiting half an arn when the door to the backroom opened. “Mr. Dellos, the Diagnosan will see you—Scorpius.” Even with her hair growing back out, she was unmistakable. It seemed Sikozu found herself a new gig. “What are you—” Her eyes flicked to the chart in her hands, then to the baby strapped to Braca's chest. “I see.” She was always too smart. “Excuse me.” She ducked back through the door.

“Did you know—” Aeryn started.

“No,” Scorpius snarled. He tapped on his comm, beginning a stream of Pilot invectives.

His Pilot listened patiently, waiting for a pause. “I didn't tell you because I knew you would refuse to visit the Diagnosan and the child would grow sicker. And I know that you both have missed the Kalish despite your—”

Scorpius cut the comm link.

Braca stood from the couch, passing Mirwa to Scorpius, and left the hospital without a word.

–

The hospital's stone exterior scratched his back through his undershirt. He'd abandoned his leather jacket as soon as he'd come outside feeling hot under the collar. Working under Scorpius, he'd wondered what it was like to be a few thoughts away from teetering on the edge of heat delirium. Now he knew. Maybe they could get matching cooling suits.

Braca felt Scorpius draw near. Their implants, like most communication devices, generated feedback when in close proximity, creating an almost humming sensation in Braca's brain that he found alternatingly comforting or annoying depending on how he felt about Scorpius at a given moment.

“Braca.” (No one ever called him “Meeklo.” Not even his handlers as a child.) Scorpius leaned against the wall next to Braca, his trademark grace hampered somewhat by the infant strapped to his chest. Braca decided he could get used to that sight.

“I don't want to talk.”

“I know. Aeryn Sun refused to stop glaring at me until I went after you. She's a very intimidating woman.”

He laughed—for perhaps too long because his body seemed to take it as permission to send liquid streaming uncontrollably from his eyes and tremors in his shoulders. Oh, god. He was _crying_. In front of Scorpius. In public. Like he was Crichton or something. “I can't go back inside. She knows. She _knows_.”

“The situation is... undesirable, but Sikozu might be Mirwa's best chance for a cure.”

“Fine. You take her and I'll go back to Triskel.”

“You need to see the Diagnosan.” Scorpius licked a tear from the corner of Braca's eye. “You won't last much longer.”

“I can't.”

“You must. Mirwa needs you... and you've done a commendable job making yourself indispensable to me as well.” He rested his forehead on Braca's, transmitting, _I won't allow Grayza to kill you from beyond the grave. You're_ mine _._

“Okay.”

Following Scorpius back into the hospital, Braca felt like he was walking though fire. (He always said he would for Scorpius—Mirwa was a new addition.) Although that might have been the approaching heat delirium. As he went down, Braca thought how fortunate it was that Scorpius was holding Mirwa and dimly hoped he would land on something soft.

–

John managed to get Sikozu alone in the observation room as she looked down through the one-way mirror at Braca and the Diagnosan, having been banished from the exam room by Scorpius who it turns out spoke Diagnosan.

“Hey, Sputnik.”

She turned to him—on her cheek: a reflected image of Scorpius with a comforting hand around Braca's neck. “Crichton.”

“Scorpy says you're gonna rewrite baby Braca's DNA, get rid of all the alien pig dren.”

“I wouldn't have framed the procedure in such crude terms, but yes.”

“So, you can eradicate alien DNA from a living organism?”

“Yes. I've had great success in my clinical trials. Why?”

“You think you can do the same thing with a tissue sample?” He held up the vial containing Aeryn's hair.

“Easily.”

“Good. Take this.” He pressed the vial into her hand. “Clean it up. And then compare it to this.” He slipped Braca's vial into her other hand. “I'll need it done by the time we leave.”

“I'm not your personal medtech, Crichton.”

“Baby, you _owe_ me.”

Sikozu closed her eyes, biting back a sigh. “I'll complete the analysis if my other duties allow.”

“Atta girl.”

–

Sikozu Shanu was a _very_ lucky woman. If not for the cocktail of anti-anxiety drugs making him so sluggish, Braca most definitely would have punched her in the face. Sun had given him some forewarning, detailing how she wanted to sock the medtech who gave her offspring his immunizations and translator microbes. When triggered, she said, a parent's protective instincts could override all reason. Braca didn't need Sun to tell him this; he'd come to the realization a few microts after trying to smuggle a commandant's infant child out of a heavily fortified Peacekeeper base. Logically, Braca knew that the medical procedure was necessary and that in the long term Mirwa would benefit, but at present her caterwauling generated a primal impulse to tear the cause of her trauma limb from limb. Admittedly, that was not such a grave threat given Sikozu's ability to reattach severed limbs.

“Can you not sedate her?” Braca asked.

Sikozu looked up from her instruments. “No. As I have said, sedation would decelerate the genetic encryption process.” Looking through her eyelashes, she added consolingly, “She won't remember the pain.”

Braca lunged, going for the throat. Scorpius yanked him back by his jacket before his heels left the floor. _Calm yourself._ Incisors pinched Braca's neck, worrying familiar scars. Braca's muscles slackened. A moan escaped his mouth, unbidden.

Sikozu's distance from them stung more than Braca's Peacekeeper-perfected attacks could.

–

Stark was hesitant to let the Diagnosan examine Zev without Sikozu there to translate, but hearing Mirwa's screams from the waiting room, he thought it was better the Kalish wasn't involved at all. The Diagnosan managed well enough, speaking in high-pitched, short sentences as he poked and prodded paying particular attention to Zev's eyes.

“Baby blind,” the Diagnosan said.

“Pardon?” Staanz asked.

He struggled to put the concept into words lesser beings could understand. “Baby—cannot—see.”

“We know what blind means!” Stark hissed. “How did this happen? The Traskan midwife said the baby was growing fine.”

“The baby—when born—eyes were open—the light destroyed.”

Stark slumped into a chair. “This is my fault. I shouldn't—I shouldn't have—if I'd—”

“Stark,” Staanz said sharply. “Baby, not now.” She address the Diagnosan. “Can you fix it? Give him new eyes?”

“May-be,” the Diagnosan answered. “Have to rewire visual cortex. Never done on Banik-Yenen. Might take cycles for research.” He reached out for Zev. “You leave him here.”

“Pardon?”

“You leave him here—for testing. Come back in...” He thought for a microt. “...three cycles. Zev be ready then.”

Staanz cradled Zev close to her chest. “We're not leaving our baby with you. He's not a laboratory animal.”

“He will be blind.”

“So, what? Lots of people are blind. Like... I can't think of any, but there's probably scads of them.”

Stark tugged on her sleeve. “Stevie Wonder. He's from Crichton's planet.”

“That's right. Steevuwunder.” She looked down at Stark. “Who's Steevuwunder?”

“He's famous. He hits the bones of large mammals with his fingertips. Rhythmically.”

“See? Zev's got a role model already.”

“O-kay.” The Diagnosan took a step back. “No take the baby.”

“That's right.”

“I have good news. From genetic scan. Baby is Stykera.”

“Pardon?”

“Baby is Stykera. Pass over the dead.”

“He can't!” Stark shot off his chair. “He can't pass over the dead. He has... face in the way!” Stark grabbed Staanz by the shoulders. “Scorpius! Scorpy said my time travel—he thought it came from my face healing over. The energy doesn't have anywhere to go.” He turned to the Diagnosan, taking his hands and shaking them furiously. “You have to fix him. He's just a baby—he can't control time travel.” He clasped a hand to his mouth. Unfortunately for the Diagnosan, said hand belonged to him rather than Stark. “But I took the time travel knowledge from Zhaan. What if I didn't pass that on to Zev? The energy can't get out! He'll explode!” Stark squeezed the Diagnosan's hands. “You have to help him!”

“I cannot cure time travel. I am a Diagnosan, not a witch doctor.”

It wasn't until they were back in the waiting room that Stark realized the full extent of their problems. “Staanz, we have a blind baby named Pilot.”

She rested her head on Stark's shoulder. “Irony is a tralk.”

–

Reverse engineering vaccinations from the Human's tissue samples was less time consuming than Sikozu initially estimated; Earth's pathogens proved just as simple as its people. With Diagnosan Heret not expecting her for another quarter of an arn, Sikozu took the time to complete Crichton's side project. Easily done, if a little unsettling. She cleaned up her work station and headed out to deliver the vaccines to Heret.

If of a weaker, more ungainly species, Sikozu would have walked right into Scorpius, who was standing outside the lab's doorway. A curious place, far from the public portions of the facility. She allowed herself a microt of self-delusion of him waiting for her—until the cool air hit her face. Scorpius was basking under a climate control vent—like a reptile.

“Do you need me to change your cooling rod?” she asked. It was almost a reflex.

Scorpius glared down at her. “No.” He always had an uncanny way of saying so much with so little. _The Living Death is preferable to being touched by you._

Stung by his rejection, she passed down the corridor, stopping before the break room door. “Does it bother you?” She didn't turn. She didn't look at him.

“What?”

“That while we were on Moya frelling on every surface of your cell, Braca was with Grayza getting poisoned a—”

“You think I haven't considered that?” The Scarran timbre crackled at the edges of Sebacean self-control.

“Do you blame yourself? I would,” she added almost casually. “I do.” She left him alone under the vent. On the way to the exam room, she passed Braca—no doubt en route to attend to Scorpius. He was close enough to touch—she was close enough to reach up and bite his cheek—but he wouldn't look at her. Even Crichton's face was a welcome reprieve from the parade through all the things Sikozu's programming could never let her have.

“Hey.” He touched her arm as she reached for the exam room door. “Did you do the...?”

“Yes.” She leaned in close to Crichton and whispered, “Aeryn and Braca are almost certainly siblings.”

“How'd you...? Did Scorpius tell you?”

“Simple deduction. As far I know, Aeryn is the only Sebacean female to ever be injected with Pilot DNA. As for Braca... I recognized his genetic signature on sight.”

“You memorized his DNA? That's kinda sweet. For your type.”

Sikozu rolled her eyes. “If this is supposed to be a secret, I suggest you do not tell. At least, not tonight. Even with the medication Diagnosan Heret prescribed, after so much trauma today, Braca might not be able to handle the shock. Physically.”

Crichton gave her one of his all-knowing, all-comprehending Human looks. “You really cared about him.”

She opened the door to the exam room. “I don't see how that's pertinent.” Because it wasn't anymore.

–

Walking back to the transport pods was like the music video for “Everybody Hurts” by R.E.M. except on a commerce planet and everyone was walking. Everyone was embroiled in their own personal trauma—everyone caught up in their internal conflicts. John could practically see captions floating under each of his companions saying what they were thinking.

Under Braca: _Everything is spinning out of control._

Under Scorpy: _There is nothing I can do._

Under Staanz: _I don't think I can carry them both._

Under Stark: _..._

“Guys.” John stopped. “Where's Stark?”

–

Stark managed to spit out his gag. (If he seemed good at that, it was only because he got lots of practice.) “I have an owner!”

The slaver pushed Stark into the back of his transport with one hand and balanced a yowling Zev in the other. He slammed the back door close. “I don't see an owner.” Different planets had different rules for what Crichton called “finders keepers,” and among smugglers, Stark imagined being out of his owner's sight was enough to make him fair game.

“Please! Not my baby! He's freeborn. Look, he has a freemark behind his ear.”

The man glanced behind Zev's ear. “That can be easily gotten rid of.”

Stark used his only bargaining chip. “You-you don't want him. He's blind. He can't see at all. What kind of money would you get for a blind slave?”

The slaver waved a finger in front of Zev's face, waiting for his eyes to follow. “If that's the case...” he mumbled, taking a rag from his pocket and lowering it to Zev's mouth.

“No!” Time stopped. The rag hanged limply in the air a breath away from Zev's face. “I did it. I did it! I saved him. I-I...” It was then he realized he was locked in the cargo hold of a transport pod. “Shit.” The Human invective seemed to fit the moment. “Shit, shit, shit.” Stark got as much of a running start as the cramped hold allowed and rammed his shoulder into the door. Repeatedly. “What—is—the—point—of—having—superpowers—if—you—can—get—locked—in—someone's—storage—compartment?” Stark knew full well that this sort of thing only worked in films Crichton watched, but pledged to keep slamming into the door until Staanz showed up to rescue them. He hoped she gave him warning or else he'd come barreling through the open door and fall all over himself.

Which is exactly what he did. But Staanz was nowhere to be seen. There was no one there except the stuck-still-in-time slaver and Zev. Stark muttered a thankful prayer to the Goddess, grabbed Zev (who unfroze at his touch), and ran the frell out of there.

–

“Guys.” John stopped. “Where's Stark?”

“I'm—right—here,” Stark gasped.

“Jesus!” Crichton jumped. “You gotta stop doin' that.”

Like frell Stark would.


	8. Better Together

_“There comes a time in a man's life that you cannot know. When he looks down at the first smile of his baby girl and realizes he must change the world for her. For all children. It is for her that I am here.”_  
—Jarok, “The Defector,” _Star Trek: the Next Generation_

–

Crichton was oddly insistent that everyone stay just one more night, saying they were all too tired to do anything but hunker down for the night. Moving baby furniture out of the transport pods would wait for tomorrow. Staanz could've used the distraction. Setting up their happy home might have let her forget that her family could be torn apart by any two-credit slaver out to make a quick turn-around. Instead, she and Stark were confined to quarters to think about all that happened on the commerce planet.

“It's never going to stop,” Stark said, his head resting in Staanz' lap. “It'll happen again and again and again.”

“The Peacekeepers will be gunning for us now after what you did to Grayza.”

“I'd do it again. And again. And again.” He reached up, stroking Staanz' cheek. “I'd do whatever I could to keep us together.”

“So would I.” She kissed his palm. “There has to be someplace we can hide. Someplace safe.”

“From my time on Moya, I learned that nowhere is safe when the Peacekeepers are after you. They will always find you. And as long as my people are slaves...” He didn't have to finish.

–

“Are you sure now's the best time?” John asked.

“You acquired the DNA results. Triskel's Pilot unencrypted the data chip,” Scorpius answered. “I see no reason for waiting.”

“Sikozu said to wait.”

“And we did.”

“For twelve arns! You really think that's enough downtime to keep Braca's brain from going Chernobyl when Maury tells him Talyn Lyczac's the daddy?”

“Yes, and the longer we keep this from them, the more... hyperbolic their reactions will be. We cannot afford to allow their shock and confusion to redirected as anger towards us.”

“Right. For our mivonks' sakes.” John narrowed his eyes. “You do have mivonks, right?” He shook his head. “Don't tell me. I don't need to know. I don't wanna know.”

Scorpius didn't look inclined to tell, gesturing to the kitchen. “Shall we?”

“We don't seem to have much of a choice.”

They ducked into the kitchen and prepared to address their audience. “So.” John put his hands on his hips. “You're probably both wondering why we asked you here.”

Braca and Aeryn looked down at their plates and up at John with frighteningly similar “Crichton, you blithering Human idiot” expressions. “For breakfast,” Aeryn said.

“Yes, and...” John turned a chair round backwards and sat, leaning forward. “There's no easy way of saying this.” He sighed. “When we were in the genetic vault, I saw Braca's file—just for a microt—and it said something I couldn't believe, but it's true. It's freakishly, improbably, inconveniently true. Me and Scorpy have been running around these past two days trying to prove that it wasn't, but...”

“Am I dying?” Braca asked, like death was another tedious duty ordered by high command.

“You're not dying. You're not sick. You're... Aeryn's brother.”

“What?”

“You're joking,” Aeryn said.

“No. I wish I was.”

“How is that possible?” she asked. “Xhalax never mentioned him.”

“ _I am a genetic experiment,_ ” Braca said, reassuring himself.

“Xhalax Sun and Talyn Lyczac were listed as your gamete donors,” Scorpius explained. “The embryo they created was implanted into a woman bred for command, Amil Braca. By implanting an embryo with pilot DNA into a command fetal environment, the genetic counsel hoped to create a pilot-commander hybrid. Their efforts appear to have been successful.”

“Xhalax and Talyn must have met during the experiment,” John said.

“They did more than meet,” Braca murmured, wiping his mouth. He stood from the table. “Excuse me.” He brushed past Scorpius on his way out of the kitchen. “Watch Mirwa. I'm going flying.”

Aeryn watched him leave, her face blank.

“Aeryn...” John said.

She blinked. “I need to...” She stood, wiping her hands on her pants. She staggered out of the kitchen. “I'll be in the gym if D needs me.”

–

“Thank you for coming,” Pilot said, truly meaning it. Stark and Staanz looked so depressed that they hardly seemed able to get out of bed, let alone walk down to his den. Of course, being largely immobile, Pilot was perhaps not the best person to judge anyone's activity level. “I would not have called you here if it wasn't important.”

Stark and Staanz stared at him silently as they leaned on each other, both keeping a careful hand on Zev. Pilot wasn't used to having this much space to talk. Typically, when people came to his den, they had urgent words and demands. He didn't receive that many social calls.

“I have been reviewing the energy anomalies that occurred while you and others had visions of someone dying. Upon closer study, those anomalies bear close resemblance to readings I took while you were practicing with Braca in the kitchen—specifically when you made the timer go backwards in time.” If either of them were feeling up to it, this would be the point in which Stark or Staanz would ask why this mattered or tell Pilot to get on with it. “I don't think you were having visions. I believe you were rewinding time involuntarily out of a strong emotional reaction to a person's death. They weren't visions; they were memories.”

“I didn't just have visions,” Stark finally spoke up. “Occasionally, I would just hear someone die. “

“How do you explain that?” Staanz asked.

“Well,” Pilot said, “perhaps, you needed to know how to manipulate time without seeing. How else could you teach Zev to do the same?”

“That doesn't make any sense,” Stark said. “How could I know that? I didn't know Zev was blind until yesterday.” 

“Stark, you have an effortless control over the fourth dimension. I assume the normal standards of temporal linearity and casualty no longer apply to you.”

“Hold on, hold on,” Staanz said. “Say Stark is making backwards time bubbles to bring people back to life. Wouldn't they remember being in that bubble?”

“They do. I remember quite distinctly dying when Moya and Triskel collided.”

“But Braca doesn't remember me killing him,” Stark said. “And Scorpius doesn't remember trying to kill me after.”

“Good thing, too,” Staanz said. “He would've killed you all over again.”

“Perhaps that's the reason why he doesn't remember,” Pilot guessed. “Stark instinctively rewound time so that he wouldn't die. If Scorpius and Braca retained their memories of the time erased, they would have killed Stark, so Stark naturally did not being their memories back in time.” This really wasn't Pilot's area of expertise, but he tried his best to fake his way through the metaphysical dren. “Stark reset their consciousness to the point in time he returned to. This suggests that Stark can manipulate how bodies and minds experience time. He could possibly erase his own memory or even be in two places at once.” 

“Two places at once?” Stark asked.

“Yes. As it stands, whenever you time-travel, your consciousness and body stay in a fixed position, either staying in one spot as time goes forward or sticking to a set of past events that have already occurred when you rewind time. If you master the manipulation of your body and consciousness through time, you could possibly move beyond these fixed positions and cross your own timeline.”

“I could change the past?”

“Conceivably, but if you altered the past too radically, you would risk erasing your present self—the you that traveled in time to correct something would never exist because nothing would need to be corrected.” Pilot thought for a moment. “You might have already done that several times by now. You could have gone back in time from a future that now doesn't exist and changed your past so that this present occurs. Your future self would have disappeared, but the version of you affected by that change would live on to reach this moment.”

“I doubt that. If I had changed my past, pre-determining the course of my life, I would not be here right now.”

“Did you just say that if you could change the past, you wouldn't choose to be here. married to me and father of my child?” Staanz asked waving a finger in Stark's face.

Stark grabbed her finger and brought it to his lips for a kiss. “Of course not. I love you, I need you both. If I could do what Pilot says I can, I'd only ever use it to keep us together.”

“You might have already,” Pilot muttered.

“What?”

“You might have already used your power to keep you and your family together. A future version of yourself could have gone back in time to manipulate events to keep you from being separated.”

“How would he know when to go back or what to do?” Staanz asked.

“I assume he would know because those events already happened to him.”

“Whatever happened, happened?”

“Yes. Or from Stark's point of view, 'whatever happened, will happen.'”

“Whatever happened, will happen,” Stark murmured. “What happened, will happen.” He handed Zev over to Staanz like a sack of breadstuffs. “I have to go.” He turned on his heel and walked toward the door with more purpose than Pilot had ever seen within him.

“Babe,” Staanz called, “where are you going?”

“I have to go unlock a door.”

–

John knew Aeryn needed space after that bombshell he dropped with way less finesse and care than he should have. But D was hungry, and their expressed milk reservoir was tapped, and John knew Aeryn would wear out all their punching bags if he left her to it.

Before John could greet her, Aeryn froze mid-punch, having heard D's cries. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, centering herself. She stripped off her sports bra. “Give him here.”

John passed D'Argo into his mother's waiting arms. “You wanna talk?”

“What's there to talk about?” D began to nurse. “I have a brother. And he's Braca. Just another cosmic joke at my expense.” She readjusted her hold on D. “I don't... I don't even know what it means to have a brother. To be someone's sister. I've just barely learned what it is to be a mother. And now I have this whole other person who I have to reconcile my life with. What good is a sibling to a Peacekeeper?”

“I guess that's something you have to figure out for yourself,” John said. “You can make that relationship whatever you want. It's up to you. You and Braca. Don't worry about what me and Scorpius are gonna think. I'm okay with whatever you decide... If you want to be in Braca's life, I'm right there with you. If you want Braca to be part of our family, D'Argo would love an uncle. If you want to tell Braca to go frell himself with a qualta blade...”

–

From navigation, Scorpius watched Braca run through defensive maneuvers in his prowler. Despite Braca's (deserved) reputation as a bureaucrat, the man was a rather skilled pilot. Scorpius supposed that he now knew why. Although, he didn't put much stock in genetic determinism. Or behavioral conditioning, for that matter. If people were shaped by nature versus nurture, Scorpius was frelled either way. So was Braca. Perhaps that was why Scorpius noticed him, picking him out of the ranks to be his left hand. It was not often one met another person raised in a single room as a genetic experiment.

Scorpius could feel a similar bond between himself and the girl-child currently resting on one of the consoles. They both knew what it was like to be born out of an unforgivable act of violence, but perhaps Mirwa could avoid wasting her cycles on a destructive and altogether pointless mission to avenge that act of violence. Hopefully, Mirwa would spend her young adulthood in a haze of rough sex and recreational drugs rather than turning in early to study wormhole mechanics. (Scorpius suspected that was an inappropriate wish to have for a monen-old child, who for all intents and purposes, was his offspring. Scorpius practically sired her himself, setting into a motion a series of unforeseeable events that resulted in her conception.)

Outside, Braca pulled out of a barrel roll and edged back into Moya's docking bay—even though he was only halfway through his exercises. Scorpius had never known Braca to stray from routine. Prior to that day, Scorpius might have said that Braca was pathologically incapable of deviating from the regimens hammered into him as a child. Of course, as of a few solar days ago, Scorpius would have also said that Braca was unlikely to steal a baby out of some paternal, protective instinct. Braca, apparently, had unknown depths.

Cognizant of one of those emerging depths, Scorpius grabbed Mirwa and hauled her down to the docking bay, getting there just in time to see Braca remove his helmet. Scorpius watched as Braca's face visibly brightened when he saw them.

“I assume this is what you came in for,” Scorpius said, holding out Mirwa.

Braca took the infant, cradling her closer than was purely necessary. “How was she?”

“Good. She slept. The pain medication is making her drowsy.”

“Thank you for watching her.”

“Your gratitude—” Scorpius slinked behind Braca “—while appreciated—” he pressed himself against Braca, chest to back “—is hardly necessary.” Scorpius reached around, resting a hand on Mirwa's head before biting down on Braca's neck—hard.

–

“Where was that door?” Staanz asked when Stark came back into Pilot's den. “You were gone for almost an arn.”

“Ektra. I borrowed the ship.”

“Ektra is two arns away at hetch seven,” Pilot said, “which is far beyond the capabilities of your ship.”

“I might have frozen time on Moya.” Stark mumbled as an afterthought, “Or the entire universe.”

“Don't let Crichton know you did that,” Staanz said. “You know he's none too fond of you messing with time and I do not want to sit through another one of his deranged rants.” She smiled self-consciously as Stark. “Not that I have anything against deranged rants. His are no way as good as yours.”

“I don't care what Crichton thinks. Crichton does not understand. Crichton never—never—never—”

Staanz interrupted, “That wasn't me asking for a deranged rant.”

Stark shook his head. “Crichton... This isn't wormholes. It's not science. I—I am not a man of science. This... this is power. I have the power. Me, my child. We have the power streaming from our fingertips.” Indeed, time was dripping from Stark's fingers like soap bubbles. Little temporal spheres hit the floor and popped. “I've had power my entire life—terrible, wonderful power—but I never used it. Not for anything that helped. Other people—it was everyone else who used my power—the slavers, the Scarrans, Scorpius, _Zhaan_ , Crichton, Aeryn, Sikozu, the Eidolons. But today—it's different, I know now. Everything I can do. It's better. _I am better._ I have the power and no one is going to use it but me. And I am going to _use it._ ”

“Baby, you're getting a case of the crazy eye.”

“Am I scaring you?” Stark growled.

“Naw. To be honest, I'm getting a little turned on.”

“Good.” Stark grabbed the back of her head, bringing her in for a kiss that made her see stars. Staanz wasn't sure if those were metaphorical stars or actual stars brought into her sight by a new superpower of Stark's.

Pilot coughed. “That's all very well, but you can't keep manipulating time like this. I must profess an academic interest in your abilities, but altering the flow of time is unethical. People have a right to experience time naturally.”

“People have a right...” Stark let go off Staanz and stalked over to Pilot's console. “People have a right. _Where were my rights when I was torn from my mother? When I was sold again and again. Put in the chair—the chair!—again and again. When the people I loved raped my mind?_ ” Stark grasped Pilot's claw. “Where were your and Moya's rights when you were forced to bond? When you were enslaved by the Peacekeepers? When Crais stole her child? When they led Talyn to the command carrier like a negnik to the slaughter?” He clasped Pilot's claw to his cheek. “Rights don't mean a lot to people like us. But we can change that. I have the power now. It's my destiny.”

–

Aeryn didn't know how being a sibling was going to work, if she was even going to give it a try, but she knew that she wasn't going to figure it out on her own. Now that she'd cooled off, she could appreciate that she and Braca were at least in this confusing mess together. She sought him out, at first over comms but when he wouldn't respond she tracked him down on foot. She found him sitting on the terrace surrounded by stars and datachips. On a holoprojector, a familiar video played.

_“My name is Xhalax Sun. I'm your mother. But you mustn't reveal to anyone that I was here. Do you understand? I came to tell you something. Aeryn, your life was not an accident and it wasn't an assigned birthing to fill the ranks. Talyn—that's your father's name—he and I chose to have you. You were conceived in love. Our love. I wanted you to know this. It makes you special. We wanted you and we love you. Go back to sleep now.”_

Braca rewound the clip. 

_“Aeryn, your life was not an accident and it wasn't an assigned birthing to fill the ranks. Talyn—that's your father's name—he and I chose to have you. You were conceived in love. Our love. I wanted you to know this. It makes you special. We wanted you and we love you.”_

_“It makes you special. We wanted you and we love you.”_

_“We wanted you and we love you.”_

_“We wanted you and we love you.”_

_“We wanted you and we love you.”_

Unable to take Braca doing this to himself, Aeryn spoke up, “Braca.”

He flinched, surprised at her presence. “What?”

“I came to talk.”

“I don't want to talk.”

She walked closer to him. “Will you listen then?” Aeryn took Braca's silence as a yes. “I know that in the past we've had our differences.” That was putting it lightly. “You've tried to kill me and the people I love, but I'm willing to look past that because you're my brother and, as I understand it, if it weren't for you, I never would have been born.”

Staring down at a data projection, Braca said, “And as I understand it, if it weren't for you, I would have two living parents right now.”

Aeryn got the impression that Braca said that with the express intent of hurting her, but rose to the bait anyway. “And if it weren't for me, your daughter would be dead right now. So I guess that makes us even.”

“And I am grateful,” Braca said and the words seemed to kill him. “But not so grateful that I can tolerate you coming in here and acting like my conception was some miraculous event that gave rise to the radiant Aeryn Sun. Because it wasn't.”

“That's not what I meant. I was only saying that to—” 

“Make me feel better? You've really gone soft out here.”

“And you haven't?”

It was a cheap shot and Aeryn wasn't surprised when Braca took one of his own, dragging her down the terrace's sloped deck by her ankle. He caught her head before it hit the ground, pulling tightly on her braid. “You have no idea what these past four days have been like for me.”

She could have just as easily freed herself (Braca was never that skilled at hand-to-hand), but needing somehow the closeness to him, she grabbed a fistful of his hair. “So, tell me,” she said like it was a challenge.

“What?”

“Tell me about it.”

Braca shook his head, glaring at her indignantly. “It's been dren. How the frell else would it be?”

“Why is it dren?”

“Well, let's see, Sun,” he snarked. “I found out I fathered a child with a woman I loathe and that she used me as her own personal frell toy for a cycle. I almost died. A giant frelling needle was shoved up my spine to save me. I stole a baby, became... _attached_ to it, and then find out she's slowly dying. When I go to get her cured, I run into a former lover who betrayed me to the Scarrans who now knows what exactly went on while she and Scorpius were playing grab-eema in Tormented Space. And now—now—I find out I'm the unwanted offspring of the only Peacekeepers to ever procreate out of love.” 

Aeryn loosened her grip on his hair. “You can't know that they didn't want you.”

Braca huffed, letting go of Aeryn's braid. He reached across Aeryn and handed her a datapod. “Read that.” 

She released his hair and sat up. As she activated the datapod, Braca turned away from her, gazing out at the stars with his knees hugged to his chest. She scanned the datapod's projection for any mention of her parents. “ _After four unsuccessful attempts, gamete donors Lyczac and Sun (previously unknown to each other) were able to conceive,_ ” she read. “ _Two solar days after their last round in the mating chamber, the viable embryo was removed from Sun and implanted into gestater Amil Braca. For their service, Lyczac and Sun both received commendations..._ ” 

Understanding now, Aeryn turned off the datapod. “Braca... just because they didn't have a choice in your conception... that doesn't mean they didn't want you or that they didn't love you. You should know that better than anyone. You took one look at Mirwa and...”

“They never looked at me. They never met me. They never tucked me in at night.”

“To be fair, you did grow up in a box.”

“True. They probably didn't even know my name for the same reason I never knew theirs. Information about the other participants would skew the results of the experiment.”

“For what it's worth, I met Xhalax—and Talyn, in a way—and there was nothing there for me. She told me that she loved me once and it killed both her and Talyn.” Aeryn felt strange saying the next part because she had wished so many awful things on Braca over the cycles. “I... I wouldn't want that for you.”

Braca leaned back, resting himself on Aeryn's side. “Still. It would have been nice to know that somebody...” He hovered around the word 'love.' “The way I... feel about Mirwa, no one is going to ever feel that way about me.”

This was as a good a moment as any. “I can't be your mother and I can't promise to love you, but I'm willing to try to figure out what it means to be someone's sister.”

“Aeryn... If you're looking at me for some small piece of your parents or yourself, you're not going to find it. I am, in the late Captain Crais' words, a 'consummate Peacekeeper' and you're _Aeryn Sun_. Whatever gene that coded for rebellion either passed me by or was conditioned—what?”

Aeryn calmed her laughter. “You recreated (rather flagrantly) with a half-breed. You stole a baby. I'm sure you've surpassed whatever rebellious standard was set by our parents.”

“And look what it got me,” he murmured. “Aeryn...” He looked over his shoulder at her, their faces mere intons apart. “You do _not_ want to be my sister.” 

She laughed. “I know.”

“You don't—” He sighed. “Aeryn, if the Peacekeepers learn that we are siblings—and I have no doubt that they're staging an inquiry into my genetic profile after our... heist—you and your offspring will be in grave danger.”

“Braca?”

He looked away. “My genetic experiment was discontinued retroactively. I was scheduled to be terminated, but Scorpius...”

“He rescued you?”

“We rescued each other. And Triskel and Pilot. We blackmailed Grayza into belaying my termination order and giving us a vessel. I imagine she didn't want us to have a ship with weapons. Now that she's dead, I'll be shot on sight. As my direct descendent, so would Mirwa. I don't know the policy about siblings and nephews, but given the Peacekeepers' fascination with genetic determinism, I imagine the total incineration order would extend to you and D'Argo.”

“Having the Peacekeepers after me and my people is hardly new.”

“This is different. You will not be captured. They will kill you.” 

“Well, that's exactly what I needed to hear.” Aeryn reclined, slumping her shoulder against Braca's back.

“We should probably go our separate ways. Together, we'll draw even more unnecessary attention.”

“Frell, you sound like a character is one of Crichton's scary Earth films. Have you forgotten all of your training?” Aeryn recited, “'Together we're better.'” 

“'Apart we're dead,'” Braca finished. “I never placed much stock in that until recently.”

“You found people to be better together with.” Like Crichton, like D'Argo, like Zhaan, Chiana, Rygel, Pilot...

“And now I'm apart from one of them and I do not like it. I won't do it again.”

“I know what it's like to lose people, but the answer isn't to stop being with them. I watched John die and it tore me apart, but—” 

“You got another one.”

“I did. I risked losing him all over again, because being together for however brief a time is infinitely better than being apart.” If emotional overtures wouldn't work, then maybe cold Peacekeeper logic. “We're Peacekeepers. We're not meant to be on our own. Not ever. We're safer together. I watch your back and you watch mine. We'll be a unit.”

He pulled away from her. “I've never been much good at being part of a unit.”

“I know. We were briefed, remember? But maybe you can learn.”

“And _you'll_ be my teacher?” he scoffed.

“And you'll be mine.”

“That's not how teaching works.”

“You are so obstinate.” _Don't make me beg; I need this. I need us._ Aeryn looked out at the stars, wondering how far she would go for him, and decided to try a familiar approach. “Ever since he left Earth, Crichton has been working on a star chart. Everywhere we go, he adds to it. He even has his own names for the stars.”

“They already have names.”

“He knows. He likes his better.” She pointed out at the sky. “See that one? The brightest star. That one he named Aeryn. It's his point of reference. Everywhere he goes, he centers himself around that one star.”

Braca snorted. “How romantic.”

“The things is, and I've never had the heart to tell Crichton this, Aeryn is actually two stars, the Hitark system. Two stars born from the same interstellar matter, always together, constantly sharing mass, made the brightest in the sky because they're together.”

“Is that supposed to be a metaphor?”

“You can read into it what you will.”

“This is completely fahrbot.”

Aeryn shrugged. “You get used to it.”

“I'm not sure I can.”

“I can help. I know what it's like—”

A cough came from behind them. “Hi.” Staanz waved. “Hate to interrupt Peacekeeper bonding time, but Stark need to have a little chat with you all down in command.”

“Can it wait?” Aeryn asked. “We're in the middle of something.”

“No. It's sort of important. Maybe the most important thing ever.” Staanz grinned. “I'm excited. Can you tell?”

–

“What's this about?” Aeryn asked, sitting down next to John in one of the chairs Stark had dragged up to command.

“I don't know,” John said. “Stark dragged me and Scorpius out of the nursery, yelling something about power, victory, I don't know. I thought we mighta ran into a civil war or something.”

In front of them, Staanz prodded at Stark until he stood just ahead of the center of view screen. “Er...” He pulled a dataslip from his sleeve, proceeding to read in a small, stilted voice. “Why did the Boolite cross the Uncharted Territories?” Too quickly, he answered. “Ethnic cleansing.” Not even Braca and Scorpius found that funny and they probably thought ethnic cleansing was hilarious.

“What was that?” Staanz whispered.

“You told me to start with a joke.”

“Go!” She shooed him away from the view screen. “Go man the console.” Stark stalked off to the console, looking more than a little relieved. Staanz took his spot in front of the viewer, clasping her hands together. “Let's get started, shall we? Stark and I have a little proposal for you lot. _We_ want _you_ to help _us_...” She looked over at Stark. “Stark? The...?”

“Oh.” Stark pressed on the console and the stars on the view screen were replaced by bright blue background covered with the words, “ _FREE THE BANIK PEOPLE._ ”

“There.” Staanz continued, “Help _us_ free the Banik people. Now, I can guess what you're thinking. 'Why should _I_ help _you_ free the Banik people?' Stark and I did a little brainstorming and we came up with a few reasons why _you_ should help _us_ free the Banik pe—Oh, we have a question. Natira?”

Braca lowered his hand, gritting his teeth. “If _you_ do not stop over enunciating your words, _I_ will—” 

“Okay. Let's leave questions until the end. So reason number one. Stark?” Stark pressed the console and new words appeared. “ _Slavery is bad,_ ” Staanz read. “I think we can all agree with that. Maybe not you two.” Staanz gestured at Scorpius and Braca. “But the rest of us. Okay. Reason two.” _Slavery is bad_ was replaced by: “ _Revenge._ ” She smiled at Scorpius. “You oughta like that one. Say, you don't like the Scarrans? Steal their labor supply. You mad at the Peacekeepers? No more Baniks; their cesium fuel line gets cut off. Anyone you have have a grudge against—anyone who frelled you over—you can frell them by freeing their slaves. Reason number three. _Guilt._ ”

She crossed over to John's chair and knelt before him, resting her hands on his kneecaps. “Stark tells me your people had slavery less than two hundred cycles ago. Right in the area you were born, too. And due to some vague phenotypical difference I honestly don't quite understand, you and your family wouldn't have been enslaved. In fact, your ancestors probably owned slaves. And I guess if that's the case all the wealth and status your family has now is the result of them having slaves. If your folks hadn't have owned slaves, you never coulda afforded astromonatot school, you never woulda went into that wormhole, never woulda met Aeryn, never woulda had your lovely little boy-child... Now that I think about it, you owe pretty much all your happiness to people being slaves. I'd imagine you'd feel a little guilty about all that.”

“Maybe,” John mumbled.

Staanz tapped John on the nose before heading back toward the view screen. “'Fore I forget, the slaves' descendants—how they doing? Got full and equal participation in your society now? No lingering discrimination?”

John blanched.

“Anyway... Reason number four. _Purpose._ Everyone needs a purpose. And I can tell you lot are a particularly purpose driven people. You like having a mission, a clear set of objectives to be fulfilled. Of course, now, you're taking a bit of a breather from all that. The war's over, you're not in the Peacekeeper's anymore, you've offed your rapist father—you've basically gotten everything you've ever wanted. You're finished. Life goals achieved. I gotta say, I envy you. I'm as happy you all are—got my husband, gorgeous baby—but I need more. I'm spinning my wheels here just waiting for something to happen. To have something to do.

“Reason number five. _You owe Stark._ I don't have to explain this one. No doubt you folks have spent many sleepless nights thinking about what's Stark has given up for you. Just tossing and turning reliving how you mind-frelled him for the greater good, ironically turning into the one person you hate most in the universe.”

 _No,_ John thought. _But now that you mention it I'll probably start._

“That's it. Any questions?”

“How exactly do you plan on freeing the Baniks?” Scorpius asked.

“Oh. That's the best part. We go to a planet, meet with their leader, and have Stark stop time until they agree to free their Baniks.”

“That's insane,” Braca said.

“Stark,” John said, “I'm sorry about your people, but you can't go around stopping time like that. You can't hold people's lives hostage to get what you want.”

“But you can?” Stark asked.

“That was different. That got us peace.”

“And your plan could upset that peace,” Aeryn added.

“Slavery is not peace!” Stark growled. “Slavery is murder, and rape, and children ripped from their parents. Slavery is war. War on my people.”

“I'm not saying that slavery is desi—” 

“Peacekeeper, do your duty!”

“I might be interested,” Scorpius said.

“See?” Staanz pointed to Scorpius. “He thinks it's a great idea.”

“Oh, well,” John said, throwing his hands in the air, “if the genocidal maniac in the gimp suit approves, then I'm sold. That was sarcasm, by—” 

“Officer Sun,” Pilot said, his face appearing on the clamshell. “I'm receiving a transmission.”

“What does it say?” Aeryn asked.

“'Where are your children?'”

“Starburst.”

Pilot hesitated. “The transmission is coming from Staanz' ship.”

“That's impossible,” Staanz protested. “Nobody's on my ship. It's powered down; there's no life support.”

“The transmission signature is coming from your ship, but the transmission cannot be traced to any one location.”

“You're sayin' it's coming from nowhere?” John asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, you can tell the invisible man that our children are in the nursery, guarded by a battalion of DRDs and if they so much as think about—”

“Sending transmission... Oh, my.”

“Oh, my?” Stark shrieked. “What does that—” 

“I think you all had better see this.”

Staanz' PowerPoint presentation disappeared from the view screen replaced by the stars—and a ship identical to Staanz'.

“That can't be real!” Staanz said. “My ship's one of a kind. I scrabbled it together myself.”

“We could tell,” Braca stated.

“Open comms signal,” Aeryn ordered.

In a few microts, the view screen displayed the interior of the other ship—which looked very much like Staanz' ship except cleaner and more organized. (Which meant it looked nothing like Staanz' ship.) Three figures huddled around the ship's video transmitter. All seemingly Sebacean, all young probably fifteen or sixteen.

“Is it on?” the boy in the middle asked. Even with dark goggles and ginger hair falling in his face, he looked almost pretty. “The camera. Are we transmitting?”

“It's on,” the other boy answered.

“Are they there? What do they look like?”

“They are...” The girl wrinkled her nose. “They are less attractive than they had previously led us to believe.

“Who the hez are you?” Staanz demanded. “And what are you doing with my ship?”

“Oh, um...” the brown-haired boy started. “We took the ship—We-we _borrowed_ the ship to come here to tell you to free the Baniks. Together. And we're your children from the future.”

“You're our children?” Aeryn asked slowly.

“Yes. From the future.” He accompanied the last part with a bit of jazz hands that accidentally smacked the other boy in the face. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“It's okay. I'm fine.”

“Prove it,” Aeryn said.

“Alright.” The girl stood and dropped trow. “D.”

The brown-haired boy—D, apparently—looked over at future-Zev nervously. “Cover your eyes.”

“I'm blind,” Zev said exasperatedly. “I have zero vision. But if by some miracle of the Goddess, I regain my sight, believe you me, the first thing I look at will not be your mivonks.”

D looked somewhat disappointed in Zev's disinterest in his mivonks, but lowered his pants regardless. “There.”

Aeryn squinted her eyes. “The ident marks match.”

“Those are easy to fake,” Braca said. “I know a tech who altered his to recreate with someone in his ident class.” That anecdote took on a disquieting tone now that Braca had realized ident classes were most likely created to prevent incest within the ranks.

“Fine.” Future-Mirwa rolled her eyes while pulling up her trousers. “Switch to infrared camera.”

“Computer,” Zev called, “give me camera array at station 4.”

“Rendering camera array,” the computer responded, sounding unnervingly similar to Majel Barrett.

A holographic keyboard covered with hundreds of symbols dropped down in front of Zev, who ran his fingers over it like a seasoned pro. “Infrared in three, two, one.” He tapped one last symbol and the live feed on the view screen flickered out, replaced by not an infrared image, but a visual band recording of some kind. 

Specifically, a video of future-D dressed to the nines, reciting seductively, “ _All year by the Zev Zev, All year by the Zev Zev I lay. I found his smile bathing my being. Oh, it should always be—_ ”

With a loud, static-y screech, the video was pulled off the screen and the live feed reappeared. “Sorry,” Zev apologized. “I must have entered in the wrong sequence... What was that?”

“I, uh,” D stammered. “I don't know. Must have been some... future version of me.”

“Weird.” Zev fiddled with the hologram some more and the camera switched to infrared, giving a thermal rendering of their ship's interior. 

“Infrared engaged,” the computer said.

“Scorpius,” Mirwa said in her tight BBC English accent, “I should hope this is sufficient.” And then slowly, deliberately, she stated, “We are your children from the future. I am Mirwa and those two are Zev and D'Argo.”

All eyes turned to Scorpius for his judgment. “Your heat signature indicates that you are telling the truth. Yet if you are telling the truth and you are my...” Scorpius took a breath. “...child, I would have trained you to manipulate your autonomic nervous system to circumvent lie detection technology.”

“He's good,” Zev said, disengaging the infrared cam.

“Good job, Scorp.” John slapped Scorpius on the back. “You gave away your one trump card as a parent.”

“Tell us something only our children would know,” Aeryn said.

“Um...” D thought for a microt. “Okay. Han shot first.”

“Mother of god,” John muttered.

Mirwa locked eyes with Braca. “You named me after one of your handlers. She was reassigned when you were eight cycles old for becoming too close to you... Mirwa is the nearest thing you ever had to family.”

Braca reached out toward the view screen. “It's really you?”

“Yes.”

“The cellular degeneration...?”

“It stopped when I was an infant.”

“And you?” Stark asked Zev. “You're...?”

Zev shrugged. “How many other blind, ginger-haired time travelers know how to fly Mum's ship?”

“By the Goddess,” Staanz gasped.

John recovered from the shock at seeing an older, future version of his kid earlier than the others (he had more experience with it), and launched into his first fatherly, I'm-not-mad-I'm-disappointed speech. “What the hell were you thinking? Time travel is dangerous. Any son of mine would know that.”

“I do,” D protested, “but there was a paradox...”

“No buts, mister!” 

“Honestly, Crichton,” Mirwa said, glaring at John, “we wouldn't even be here were it not for you and your histrionic ooman speech patterns. Were you not yelling like a dying drannit, D wouldn't have listened in on your argument and none of us would know this happened.”

“Happened?” Staanz asked.

“Whatever happened will happen,” Stark answered.

“Exactly,” Zev said.

“Care to share with the rest of the class?” John asked.

“Oh, well, y'all—” John softened at D's use of the Southernism. “—were fighting about whether or not to tell us about this. And, Dad, you were all like, 'People are fundamentally good. We'll do the right thing without needlessly sending our children back in time to risk life and limb.' And then Scorpius was like, 'People are fundamentally selfish. We shouldn't risk the dissolution of this reality on the hope that Crichton's conscience will be functioning that day.' And then he started bringing up all this bad stuff you did in the past and that kind of devolved into a giant shouting match that lasted like an arn.”

“Which is when I realized,” Mirwa said, “that getting the six of you to agree on anything—much less to liberate the Banik people—would require an act of divine intervention.”

“So, we hopped on board, did a little time travel, and came here to convince you to free my people,” Zev said.

“And, in doing so, maintain the future we came from.”

“In your future,” Aeryn asked, “we chose to free to the Baniks?”

“Yes, and you did it because we went back in time and told you to.”

“You obviously don't know your folks very well,” John said, “but none of us are the type of people who rearrange their entire lives because three teenagers from the future told them to... Except for Stark.”

Stark nodded. “I'm a joiner.”

“We know,” Zev said, “but you would do it to save your children's lives.”

“If you don't choose to free the Baniks,” D said, “I'll never hear you guys argue about why you chose to free the Baniks, I'll never tell Mirwa about it, and we'll never travel back here. If you don't choose to free the Baniks, we...” D held up his hand, growing translucent at the fingertips.

“You have two choices: choose to liberate the Banik people and go through with it,” Mirwa said without blinking an eye, “or watch future versions of your children slowly dissipate into nothingness.”

“Your choice,” Zev added.

“We'll let you chat.”

Zev tapped a holographic symbol and the video feed cut out.

Everyone on command stood in silent shock until John jabbed Scorpius in the chest, saying, “This is your fault.”

“How could this possibly—” 

“It's your evil kid who came up with this plan.”

“It could have very well been your offspring who—” 

“D is an angel! He would never—”

“Yeah,” Staanz interjected, “don't be talking about my future son-in-law that way.” She gave Crichton a friendly jab. “Can you imagine? My son and yours.”

Crichton pushed her away and stuck his head between his knees.

“Regardless of who's to blame,” Aeryn started, “it's obvious what we have to do.”

“Right.” Braca nodded. “We have to agree to their terms.”

“What? No. That's impossible. We're not going to free the Baniks.”

“Why not? You don't seem very busy.”

“We would be heedlessly running into danger, going up against every major power in the known galaxy. I'm not going to let you put yourself in harm's way like that.”

“You're not going to _let me_?”

“I won't.”

“What happened to we're better together?”

“Nothing. We can be better together while we're not going on some ridiculous suicide mission.” Aeryn didn't know quite where this was coming from. The protectiveness she felt for the people she loved typically drove her to train them to defend themselves, but right then she felt like locking Braca in a box so he wouldn't slip out of her hands like Xhalax.

“It's obviously not a suicide mission if we're alive to fight about it cycles from now.”

“But who knows what happens after that?”

“We can't let the possibility of dying twenty cycles from now stop us living our lives. Everyone dies, Aeryn.”

“Yes, but you're not allowed to.”

“I'm inclined to agree,” Scorpius said.

“This is absurd,” Braca declared. “I am not going to sit idly by and watch my child die.”

“That is not your child,” Scorpius hissed. “Your child is in the nursery. That is only one of many possible futures of your child.”

“ _We raised her._ Can you really watch her die knowing that?”

“I will not be manipulated.”

John straightened up. “Aeryn's right. Our kids don't need to grow up surrounded by that kind of danger.”

“But it's all right for our kid to grow up as property?” Staanz asked.

“It's not, but I have to look out for my own. I'm sorry about slavery, okay? I apologize on behalf of all the slave-holding peoples in the galaxy, but I am not gonna subject my kid to life on the run.”

“And I suppose,” Braca started, “your decision has nothing to with averting a future where your son is pathetically in love with another boy.”

“Hey.” John waggled a finger in front Braca's face. “I love my future gay son!”

“Then how can you watch him die?”

“He might not have to,” Scorpius said, narrowing his eyes at Stark. Braca, John, and Aeryn followed suit, closing in on Stark like Rygel going after a plate of marjols.

“Stark,” Aeryn said low and dangerous, setting Stark to stammering as he backed himself into a corner. “Can you send them back?”

“No—no. I couldn't possibly...”

“If your son can bring them here,” Braca whispered into his ear, “then you can send them back.”

“I can't!”

Scorpius grabbed Stark's shirt, thrusting him a half-motra into the air, and slamming him up against Moya's bulkhead. “Try.”

Stark squeezed his eyes shut, sweating bullets, for a few microts before admitting defeat. “I can't. _I can't._ ”

“Stark, baby,” John said, “Daddy don't got time for any of your psycho, Stykera dren.”

“I'd send them back if I could, but I can't!”

“If a child can do it,” Scorpius asked, “why can't you?”

“I don't know! Zev's had cycles to practice; I've only had three solar days!”

“Maybe the stakes aren't high enough,” Braca said.

With a nod, Aeryn had a pulse pistol to Stark's throat while Braca and John were left fumbling for their own. “Stark,” they groaned.

Scorpius shook his head. “Not Stark.” He nodded over their shoulders to Staanz who was pointing two pulse pistols in Braca and Crichton's general direction.

“Put him the frell down,” she demanded.

“Do you even know to shoot one of those?” John asked.

“No. That's what makes me so dangerous.”

“The firepower seems a tad excessive,” Braca said. “Could he not have freed himself while he froze time for you to snurch those?”

“Oh, he didn't have to freeze time for me snag these. I took them off when you came in. Don't be so shocked; I'm not just a pretty face.”

“I thought you weren't a thief,” Aeryn said.

“Once a Zanetan... Besides, the condition these armaments are in, they're something I'd pick up as a garbologist.”

“Hey!” Crichton yelled. “You can point a gun in my face, but you do not insult Winona!”

“Staanz,” Aeryn said, “lower your weapons before someone gets hurt.”

“Someone is already getting hurt!” She pointed to Stark with one of the pistols. “Look at him, he's terrified. You're hurting him, you frigid Peacekeeper tralk. You're hurting my Crichton!” Her eyes darted over to Scorpius. “My Natira.”

“It's Braca! Bra-ca,” Braca protested. “And I resent the comparison.”

“Resent being compared to me or Stark?” John asked.

“Either of you. You're both completely fahrbot.”

“For what it's worth,” Stark said in a small voice, “I always thought you were Aeryn, the Peacekeeper gradually reconciling his indoctrination with his growing feelings for a genetically-inferior mad man obsessed with wormholes.”

“Oh,” Staanz sighed. “That's sweet.”

“I'm Crichton?” Scorpius asked.

“Hey,” Crichton said, “I'm not too happy being lumped in with Sweeney Todd and the Phantom of the Opera either.”

“Is there an option where none of us are Crichton?” Braca asked.

“You can be whoever the hez you want,” Staanz said, “as soon as you back away from my husband, so we can discuss this like adults.” Stark's captors shared a look before backing away with their hands up. “Aeryn, put it on the ground.” Aeryn complied—reluctantly. In a show of good faith, Staanz put hers down as well.

“Pilot,” Aeryn called. “Arm DRDs.”

Staanz and Stark didn't seem too scared—a rarity for Stark.

“Pilot, arm DRDs!” A few microts went by. “Pilot?”

“Officer Sun,” Pilot said, “Moya and I believe you should consider their proposal.”

John huffed. “You got to Pilot and _Moya_?”

“This was kind of their idea,” Staanz answered.

“Consider us co-architects of the revolution,” Pilot said. “We're restricting your access to the DRDs' pistol function until discussions have ended.”

John smiled at Scorpius knowingly. “Well, we'll just have to wait 'til the cavalry arrives.” The door to command swung close, foreclosing the possibility of 1812 or Wormhole coming to the rescue. “Frell.”

Staanz grinned toothily. “Looks like rational discussion wins out, boys.”

“Take a seat,” Stark directed, taking his place next to his wife.

Braca settled down between Aeryn and Scorpius. “If the children cannot be sent back to the future—” John and Stark shared a smile at the title drop. “—then my position remains unchanged.”

“I remain opposed,” Scorpius said. “As much as I believe Stark has little option in using his new abilities, I will not be caught in the destruction he causes.”

“As much as it pains me to admit this, I gotta say Scorpy has a point,” John said. “Time travel is _dangerous_. Even if we're alive however many cycles from now, if we go through with this, we guarantee ourselves a future where our kids get caught in a causation paradox.”

“Those are our kids!” Stark shouted, getting all up in Crichton's face. “This isn't an unrealized reality. Whatever happened will happen.”

“What did you say?”

“Whatever happened will happen.”

(“It's kind of his catchphrase now,” Staanz added.

Aeryn snorted. “No more 'my side, your side'?”)

“No,” John said. “What did you say before that?”

“'This isn't an unrealized reality.'”

“Where did you hear that term?”

“I don't know. In a dream, maybe?”

“A dream? When?”

“A couple nights ago. I think—I think you were in the dream. We were on an ice berg with a strange man wearing Earth clothing—Newton?”

“Einstein.” John sighed. “His name's Einstein. At least, that's what I call him. He's sort of the Guardian of Forever for the Uncharted Territories, makes sure lower-beings don't frell up the flow of time.”

“You were there,” Stark gasped. “You were really there in my dream? Our dream?”

“Yeah.”

“So you remember what he told us?”

John nodded. “Can you really do what he said?”

“Not all of it. Not yet, but I went back to Ektra this morning. I—I saved my son.”

John smiled bittersweetly as he took Stark's face in his hands, pressing their foreheads together. “By the frelling Goddess, Stark.”

“Well, you know what Zhaan always said.”

“Do right by the wrong. Goddess helps us all along,” John sing-songed. “And I think she did this time.”

They pulled away, tears stinging in their eyes.

“Care to share with the rest of the class?” Scorpius asked.

John wiped his eyes. “Uh, we're gonna help Stark free the Baniks and everything's gonna finally be fine.”

“Everything?” Scorpius asked.

“Everything that matters. We literally have all the time in the world.”

“As you're so fond of reminding us, time travel is dangerous.”

“Not when you know what you're doing.”

Aeryn guffawed. “And Stark does?”

“It's all in there.” He tapped Stark's temple. “The whole fourth dimension at his feet.”

“You can't possibly trust Stark with that kind of power,” Aeryn said. “You see what Zev is doing today. Stark could go back in time and change everything. He could—”

“Kill Hitler?” John finished. “Well, he won't. Because Hitler—” He pointed at Scorpius. “—is still here.” John let that thought catch up with him. “Queer, disabled, half-breed Hitler... It's not a perfect metaphor. But if Stark was gonna play fast and loose with the timeline, he woulda taken Scorpy out before he first stuck him in the Aurora chair. But Stark didn't; he won't. Because Stark takes this Stykera dren seriously... except for that time he used my memories to make a video game. But other than that... We can trust him, Aeryn.”

“Trust him?” Aeryn asked. “He tried to trap you in a virtual reality game for all eternity.”

“And we ripped his mask off and forced him to take that Eidolon to the other side. And Scorpius frelled my mind for cycles. And Braca tried to kill Moya and Pilot. We've all screwed each other over.” (“I haven't,” Staanz muttered.

Scorpius shot her a glare. “You call me 'crippled.'”) “That doesn't mean we shouldn't trust each other.”

“That's exactly why we—”

“Officer Sun,” Pilot said over the clamshell. “I'm receiving a transmission from the other vessel.”

“Put it on.”

On the main viewer:

_An awkward close-up of John's right eye. “—on. You sure you can handle this, Harv?”_

_From offscreen, Scorpius said, “I understand how to use simple technology.”_

_“I know. You've got half a Radio Shack up in your skull.” John stepped back, filling the frame with his face. He had a truly a truly unfortunate mustache. “This is important. This is history in the making. I want every microt of this captured—” And suddenly complete darkness. “Okay, here we go.”_

_The pitch black was interrupted by three small lights flickering in the distance. The lights moved slowly, bobbing slightly, before settling on a flat surface where they illuminated a small boy's face. Around him, dozens of DRDs lit up their eye stalks, casting a dim light on the table at which he sat. He wasn't alone. Two other small children sat beside him while adults stood behind him: Braca hovered behind the child with black hair, Aeryn and John leaned over the boy, while Stark and Staanz each had hands on the ginger child._

_“All right,” John said. “One, two, three...”_

_“_ Happy birthday to you, _” they all sang—even the boy behind the cake, who was apparently too excited about this Earth song not to join in. “_ Happy birthday to you. _”_

 _Some well-wishers were more successful than others. Stark and Staanz tried their best, sounding something like, “Hippy berse tea yee,” while Braca stiffly mouthed the words. A quick jab to the solar plexus by Aeryn got him singing. “_ Happy birthday to you, dear D'Argo. Happy birthday to you. _”_

_The little boy extinguished the three small flames in one breath, making them all cheer. Braca even cracked a smile._

As the video faded into the stars, a tear slid down Aeryn's cheek—well observed by Scorpius. _It seems Mirwa has been an excellent pupil in the art of manipulation,_ Scorpius projected, sounding almost proud in Braca's head.

Stark, crying more openly than Aeryn, fussed with his shirt sleeves. “I guess it all depends on what future you want.”


	9. Epilogue: 3 + 3 + 3 = Not Such a Scary Number Anymore

_“Now be a good little Banik...”_  
—Rygel, “Green-Eyed Monster”

–

The dagger hits the hood of Braca's prowler with a soft _tink_. Quiet enough not to wake the baby inside, but loud enough to get Braca's attention. He looks over the prowler at Scorpius gently stroking the blade.

Intrigued as he might be, his sense of punctuality wins out. “We're expected on Moya in less than a quarter arn.”

Scorpius comes round the prowler, dragging his finger along its hull. “This won't take long.”

“The last time you said that, we were late for the signing of the Scarran Peace Treaty.”

 _The order to reduce troops by a “return to the prime directive of Peacekeeperdom” came a weeken after the treaty was signed. Braca was at the meeting where it was decided, stuck, helpless to do anything but transmit to Scorpius,_ It's happening.

“This won't take long.” Scorpius presses himself against Braca's back, pinning Braca's hands to the top of the prowler with his own. “All you have to say is 'yes'... or 'no.'”

“Sir, you know how much I like saying yes.”

“Would you be willing to give me forever?”

“You already have my life, sir, and my death. I gave that to you cycles ago.”

_Most of his recruits for the wormhole project (or, as John Crichton called them, “Scorpy's affirmative action hires”) were on their way out as soon as Scorpius read their death sentence. Strappa, however, stayed on comms stammering about genetics and Braca and “retroactive termination.”_

_“What?” Scorpius spat._

_“The experiment has been officially declared a failure due to-to-to—due to—”_

_“_ Strappa. _”_

_“Due to you, sir... All genetic material is scheduled for incineration within the weeken.”_

_“All genetic material?”_

_“Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir. M-maybe there is enough time for you—”_

“I want more.”

Braca rubs his backside along Scorpius' codpiece. “You always do.”

“I want your afterlife.”

“I'm not sure that's mine to give, sir.”

_“But who knows,” Braca said, smirking at Grayza, “you might see your offspring in death.”_

_She was desperate now, Braca could tell. “I will belay your incineration order long enough for you and the half-breed to escape with a Leviathan.”_

_“And you'll keep a retrieval squad from actively pursuing us.”_

_“Yes.” She'd have agreed to anything to keep her spawn breathing. Such sentiment._

“According to Stark...” Scorpius reaches for the dagger. “Our final destination depends on our belief systems. And unless you have any prior commitments I should know about...” With his free hand, Scorpius spins Braca around, holding him pressed to the prowler. Breathing heavily, Scorpius takes Braca's hand in his own, slicing a shallow cut along his thumb. “Vow to me that you'll share what comes after with me.”

Braca swallows. “Yes.” Scorpius tongue is just about to meet Braca's blood when Braca adds, “Mirwa comes, too.” If he's going to start believing in the afterlife, he might as well go for broke.

 _In the middle of hallway, Braca stared Scorpius down, transmitting,_ Didn't you ever wish someone would steal you away?

“Of course.” Scorpius licks Braca's thumb in a way that is probably entirely inappropriate in the company of one's offspring. Scorpius lowers the prowler's door just to be safe before slicing his own thumb and offering it to Braca, who sucks at it greedily. (The high fructose content of Scarran blood makes it taste sweet to Sebacean palettes.) Scorpius kisses Braca, catching some of his own blood on his tongue. (It tastes sour to him.) He picks him up easily, lowering them both onto the floor.

Braca breaks the kiss, staring up at the prowler nervously. “She's sleeping.”

 _Then we'll have to be quiet,_ Scorpius transmits, covering Braca's mouth with a gloved hand.

–

“If you're going to come down with us,” Aeryn says, handing Staanz a pulse pistol, “you need to be able to protect yourself. I know you don't like guns, but, frankly, you'll be a liability planetside if you can't shoot. You've got a good beginner's pistol, so all you'll really need to worry about is accuracy.” Aeryn walks behind a freight crate. “Fortunately, we still have the target from when I taught John.” She lifts out a tall metal cut-out, propping it up against the crate. She surveys her handiwork, wrinkling her nose. “I suppose that's a little inappropriate now.” She dusts off the figure's face. “We used to have one of Crais, but John stopped using it after the Aurora chair. I think Rygel sold it.”

Once Aeryn is behind her, Staanz takes aim, shooting for the heart. “Frell.”

“You're close. That's very good for a first shot.”

Staanz ducks her head. “On you maybe. My heart's between my legs.”

Aeryn laughs. “Maybe you should stick to the flax.”

_“C'mon, baby, c'mon. Gimme five more microts. Can you do that for Daddy?”_

_“Staanz,” Crichton called over comms, “What's goin' on over there? Pilot's getting serious distortions in spacetime. Stark can barely compensate.”_

_“I told you, she's not meant to go through starburst!”_

_“If you want us to get through this budong minefield, she better. And at full integrity!”_

_“I'm givin' her all she's got, Crichton!”_

_“Staanz, if you get us through five more starbursts, you are officially my best friend.”_

Staanz sites the shot as Aeryn instructs and fires. “By the Goddess.”

“Tell me you weren't shooting for his chest that time.”

“No. I can't believe it!”

“It's one thing to do it once. Try again. The same spot.”

Staanz shoots and manages to get close enough to kill. “Seems I'm a natural.”

There's a cough behind them. “Is there any particular reason why you're shooting at a crudely-drawn cut-out of Scorpius? _At his crotch?_ ” Braca asks.

Aeryn and Staanz share a look. “Women's self-defense class,” Aeryn says.

“I see,” he says, stepping beside Staanz. He pulls his pistol from its holster and fires two shots between the target's eyes. “He wears body armor,” Braca explains.

“Nice shot,” Aeryn says.

“I've been practicing.”

_Amid the chaos of battle, pressed back-to-back, Aeryn gloated, “I told you this planet would be crawling with Peacekeepers.” She fired a shot, taking the number of Peacekeepers on planet down by one._

_“You—” Braca took out a subofficer carrying an enviable field rifle that, if time permitted, would be making its way into Triskel's armory. “—can be insufferable when you're right.”_

_A near-miss meant for Aeryn hit their parcel of supplies, sending a spray of food cubes through the air. Aeryn spat out a mist of crumbs. “So, you admit that I'm right then.”_

_“That's exactly what I'm talking about.”_

_The poor bastard who destroyed their purchases met his end by Aeryn's pistol. “Come on, you know you love me.”_

_Braca sniggered. “You're the radiant Aeryn Sun; how could I not?”_

_As she watched a sniper fall to his death, Aeryn suspected that Braca was only half-teasing._

–

“Can you make the plant grow?” Stark asks, holding Zev in his lap. “Can you make it grow big and strong?” Zev reaches out for the sprout, sighting it by touch. “You can try. No one will be mad if you can't.” Zev sticks his fingers into the soil and plant shoots up, blooming into a large, purple flower. “Good boy.” Stark presses a kiss to his temple. “Go play with your toys.” Zev crawls off, away, and over to a stack of puzzles.

John leans on the playroom's doorway. “He's gettin' good.”

Stark shrugs. “He's learning.”

“Are you kidding? He's a freakin' prodigy. My kid's still working on walking by himself; yours is manipulating spacetime.”

“Banik mental faculties develop at a faster rate than Sebaceans.”

John knows better than to ask why that is, guessing that Zev walking, talking, and following orders at ten monens probably has something to do with slavery. And while John's reactionary guilt about slavery is abating as they get to work, it still pains him to hear his friend explain exactly how he's been custom-built for a life of forced labor.

_“I can't do this. We—we have to go back.”_

_“Stark, buddy, you're gonna do fine.”_

_“No, no,_ no _. I'll mess it up.”_

_“You won't.”_

_“I will. It's what I do. I mess things up. Give me a responsibility and I'll mess it up.”_

_“That was old Stark. This is new and improved Stark. Bigger, badder, better Stark. Stark 2.0. ”_

_“Two-point-oh?”_

_“Two-point-oh. You got this. You're gonna go in there and show the Sheyangs who their daddy is.”_

_Stark frowned._

_“What's wrong?”_

_“That's a rather patriarchal way of phrasing conflict.”_

_“Just... go in there and kick some ass.”_

_“Okay. Kick some ass. Okay.”_

“I see we should not have preoccupied ourselves with being on time,” Scorpius sneers, coming into the playroom. “None of you seem particularly concerned with leaving on schedule.”

“Hey,” John says. “I was waiting on you.”

“That would be far more convincing if you were wearing trousers.”

“My good pants are in the wash, okay? I have to find another pair that works at court.” He heads into the hallway.

“Hurry. I'm not a man you want to keep waiting.”

John pokes his head back in the playroom. “That would be far more convincing if you weren't letting a toddler use your pinky as a pacifier.”

_On the clamshell, Natira stared down at Mirwa—like she was a sentient fungus invading her home—before quickly schooling her features. “Scorpius, you've acquired a new accessory.”_

_He glanced at Mirwa sitting in his lap, gumming at his gloves. Normally, he wouldn't involve Mirwa in business—not even in “conference calls,” as Crichton termed them—but that day she was inexplicably struck with some infant space madness that made her wail like an Interion when removed from his person. Scorpius had little recourse but to keep her at his side and hope her presence would throw Natira._

_“Is it yours?” Natira asked._

_“In a manner of speaking.”_

_“You stole her?”_

_“In a manner of speaking.”_

_“And I suppose you killed the mother.”_

_“No. Stark did.” He smiled. “The Banik has a fascinating method of dispatching enemies. Completely bloodless.” After that, Scorpius found Natira much more agreeable to his terms, pledging to phase out the slave trade in the tax shelter planet she now ran. If she failed to keep up her end of the bargain (the bargain being, “do this or we will kill you”), she would discover the true extent of Stark's powers._

_Before signing off, she remarked, “You've changed so much. You're almost calm.”_

_“It is easy to be calm when no one can touch you.”_

_“Perhaps it's the child.” Natira smiled down at Mirwa. “It is quite charming. Hazel isn't as rare as blue, but its eyes are still rather lovely.”_

_Scorpius snarled and the transmission dropped._

–

From the pilot's seat, Braca surveys the cramped transport pod. “I don't see why we're all going. I could have stayed on Triskel. And Staanz should be operating the flax.”

“He wanted to see all of us,” Crichton responds, settling into the seat next to him. “He's expecting a social call and that's what we're gonna give him.”

“Until we hold his empire hostage and demand he overhauls its entire economic system. Then we return to the transport pod with another head of state cursing our names and three cranky, sticky, smelly children.”

“You really know how to look on brightside, Braca.”

“I'm an optimist.” He engages rear thrusters and waits for Pilot to open the hangar door. “You'll be happy to know I added more items to my list.”

“You're never gonna let this go, are you?”

“No.” Braca takes the transport pod out into open space. He clears his throat and recites, “You breathe oddly. You're messy. You constantly bemoan your inability to understand the local vernacular while making references that only the deranged Banik can understand...”

 _Crichton jogged down the corridor after him. “Yo, Braca. Wait up.” Braca slowed down enough for Crichton to follow. “I know we've had our differences and I've said some things that might have been a little ignorant. Whatever ill will between us that I've caused—I just wanna say I'm sorry and...” He pulled a slip of metal from his pocket and began to read from it, “_ You're self-serving, emotionally stunted, cold, manipulative, impolite... You watched Grayza drug and molest me and didn't do anything to stop it. You're a sadist. Your face is... unappealing. You tried to kill Moya and Pilot. You're boring. You're a terrible conversationalist. You're a really picky eater. You're smug. You don't seem to like anything. Your haircut went out of style a decade ago. _” He looked at the back of the card. “That's it. Those are all the reasons I hate you. And you being gay, bisexual, whatever wasn't one of them... You get what I'm saying?”_

_“I think so.”_

_“Good. That's—” The next word was knocked out of John's mouth by Braca's forehead smashing into his nose._

As the transport pod clears Moya, Scorpius and Staanz rehash the same argument for the dozenth time. “It won't work,” Scorpius says. “The holographic interface requires too much energy to be powered by steam engine.”

“Anything can be powered by steam engine if you get enough heat.”

“Heat is not a renewable resource. You cannot generate heat independently in space.”

She turns her head to the side, staring intently at Scorpius' temple. “I can't, but you—you—”

“Do not finish that thought,” Scorpius grounds out.

“You! You could be our heat source. We could plug your brain into the ship!”

Scorpius brushed her hand off his shoulder. “If you have any delusion that you are the sane party in your marriage, _abandon it now_.”

_“You have a bump on your back.”_

_Staanz whirled around, smacking Stark's hands away. “What? Where?”_

_“It's not a big bump. It's hardly noticeable. It's probably not even there. Forget I said anything.”_

_Staanz rubbed her hand along her spine. “Oh, frell.” She glared up at Stark. “I'm pregnant.”_

_“What? When? How?”_

_“You should know; you were there.”_

_“How is that possible? We only...” Stark made a rude hand gesture to illustrate._

_“How else would it happen?”_

_Stark made a different hand gesture._

_“This is your fault!” Staanz jabbed him in the chest. “You said you weren't fertile.”_

_“I wasn't! I didn't think I was... It's very difficult to keep track of my fertility cycle in a time bubble!”_

_“I never should have trusted you—”_

_“If you would have told me how your people—”_

_“—to keep track of that—”_

_“—reproduce, I might have—”_

_“—by yourself.”_

_“—paid closer attention to these things. I can't be expected to chart my cycle by stars that don't move! Especially when you're not—”_

_“Stark.”_

_“—doing any of the washing up. Do you know how long it takes to wash clothes in the river? I have filter out the time pxiz so I don't crush—”_

_“Stark.”_

_“—them to death. Same with our drinking water. I have to get a sieve and go, 'my side, their side. My side, their—'”_

_“Stark!” She cupped his face in her hands._

_“What?”_

_“We're going to have a baby.”_

_“We're going to have a baby.”_

_They kissed and laughed and kissed and laughed until Stark broke away. “_ How _are we going to have a baby?”_

Stark sits cross-legged in the playpen at the back of the craft, watching over the children's play. Aeryn stands behind him, watching his watching.

“Are you ready for this?” she asks.

“Yes,” he murmurs.

“Are you sure? We've never—”

He looks over his shoulder at her. “Aeryn. I'm not worried. Neither should you.”

_Stark found her in command, staring out at the heavens. “Aeryn. Are you busy? If you're busy, I can come back. I'll come back—”_

_“Stark.” She held up a hand, silencing him. “I'm not busy. Is something wrong?”_

_“No. I, er... I wanted to tell you that—that I am sorry for the way I acted.”_

_“Okay. You're going to have to be more specific than that.”_

_“Right.” He swallowed. “I'm sorry for the way I acted after Zhaan died and after the other Crichton died. I thought I was giving you what you needed, but I was—I was... I wasn't being a very good friend to you. I thought if I saved you, I would save Zhaan, and if I had Zhaan, I would... I would be okay. It doesn't make right what I did, but I... I wanted you to know it wasn't anything you did that made me... I'm just naturally a very creepy person. I've been told I give off a vibe. I think it's because I'm so scared all the time. It makes people feel uneasy.”_

_“Are you scared now?”_

_“No.” He looked out at the stars—at her and Braca's stars. “Not anymore.”_

_“Good.”_

_“Are you?”_

_“Hmm?”_

_“Are you scared?”_

_She smiled, a tear resting on her eyelash. “I'm terrified.”_

_“You won't lose him.”_

_“Maybe that's what is so scary.”_

–

They stride into the royal chamber shoulder-to-shoulder, six abreast, all slo-mo like _Reservoir Dogs_ if half of them had toddlers strapped to their chests in papooses. The courtiers silently bask in the visitors' collective badassery—all of them except one who comes barreling down the hall, whooping, “Brrrr-ai-yiyyiyiyiyaah!” A silver whirl is about to launch itself full-force at Crichton before noticing his tiny passenger and switching course, landing in Aeryn's arms. Chiana plants a long, firm kiss on Aeryn's lips. 

“Down, boy,” Staanz whispers at John.

Chiana pulls away, sliding off of Aeryn. “Guys, uh, why does Scorpius have a baby?”

“It's Braca's,” John answers. “And since Braca is Scorpius', so's the baby.”

“Oh. Who's the mom?”

“No one of importance,” Scorpius says.

_“You'd get a lot more sympathy,” John will say on their way back home, “if you told the truth. Or at least something close to the truth.”_

_“I don't want_ sympathy _.” Braca will spit the word likes it's poison._

_“You don't tell who the mother is, people think you and Scorpy locked some poor woman in a dungeon and made her bear your demon spawn.”_

_“People can think what they like about me and Scorpius.”_

_“But not that Grayza...”_

_“You can't even say the word and you expect me to—”_

_“I can say it. Rape, rape, rape, rapity, rape, rape.”_

_“Who raped?”_

_“Grayza. Grayza r... Shut up and drive.”_

An attendant on a chair sled hovers down the grand hall. “The Dominar humbly requests your presence in his throne room, John Crichton of Erp, Aeryn Sun of—”

From within the throne room, a voice calls, “Cut the yotz and bring me my baby!”

–

D giggles helplessly as Rygel blows another raspberry on his tummy.

“I think he remembers you,” Stark says, standing over his shoulder.

“Of course he remembers me,” Rygel snaps, “I'm his mother.” 

“Is it just me,” John whispers into Aeryn's ear, “or is this family getting gayer as we go along?”

_Scorpius will come into the kitchen after dinner while Crichton's washing the dishes. “John.”_

_“What? Throw me a hand towel, would ya?”_

_Scorpius will drape the towel over John's shoulder. “John.”_

_“Scorpius.”_

_“I thought you would want to know. D'Argo disclosed to me that he believes he is attracted to males.”_

_John will turn off the faucet. “What?”_

_“I know this is likely much earlier than you had expected.”_

_“He told_ you _?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“And nobody else?”_

_“He said I was the first person he had discussed this wi—”_

_John will turn to face Scorpius, throwing the hand towel at him. “_ Goddamnit, Scorpius! _You stole my moment!”_

_“Your moment?”_

_“Yes, my moment. It was supposed to be my moment. He was supposed to come to me first. He was supposed to come to me and I was going to tell him that everything was going to be okay and that I would love him no matter what and that I was proud of him. He was supposed to come to_ me _, not Nosferatu.” Crichton will start crying. Scorpius will be uncomfortable._

_“Crichton, you do realize that you're not... uh...” Scorpius still won't understand the confines of Human sexuality._

_“I know I'm not, but I'm his father. I have been waiting for this moment since he was two months old. It was supposed to be the proudest moment of my life... until D's seemingly-inevitable gay wedding to Zev. What—what am I supposed to do now?”_

_“I imagine you wait for him to come to you and hope for better luck with the next one.”_

Rygel settles back into his throne sled. “I didn't ask you here for a social call. I...” He says quietly, “I need your help.”

“What kind of help?” John asks.

“There are troubles in the outer planets. My so-called advisors—who aren't worth their weight in dren—are calling it the Banik Revolution.”

_“So, if Rygel sent us a transmission, asking us to stop a rebellion on Hyneria Prime, you would—”_

_“I would say, 'Hey, sorry, Sparky, but me and the missus are on the straight and narrow from here on out.'”_

_“The straight and narrow?”_

_“From here on out.”_

“Can you imagine?” Rygel asks. “Baniks! Revolting!”

Stark and Staanz share a smile over the dominar's head.

_Zev will eventually grow to an age where he no longer wants nothing more than to cuddle with his father and fly in his mother's lap. His parents will look on in horror as he meets the normal socio-developmental milestones._

_“What happened?” Stark will ask. “He used to be so soft and cuddly.”_

_And, in desperation, his parents will have another child. And another. And another. And another. Until they reach the appropriate age to start getting pestered about grandchildren._

_Meanwhile, they'll free the Baniks. With a little help._

“Apparently,” Rygel continues, “some band of criminals is traveling around the galaxy threatening leaders into freeing their planet's Baniks. Ha! Not here, not in Hyneria. Not while I'm dominar. Other monarchs—weaker monarchs—impotent monarchs would let those renegades stroll right across their borders, but not me, not Rygel XVI.”

Underneath the table, Aeryn squeezes Braca's hand, desperately trying to hold off the laughter.

_A younger Peacekeeper once passed by Braca's cell—probably on her way to a regular medical check-up. Unlike the dozens of other people who passed his cell on a daily basis, she didn't avert her eyes or stare at him like a curiosity in a cage. Blatantly disregarding the sign instructing not to touch the glass, she pressed her hand flat against the cell wall. Braca cocked his head to the side, and held his hand over hers on the glass, imagining he could feel her warmth before she was jerked away by a medtech. That was the first (and only) time Braca interacted with another child._

“What the yotz is so funny?”

“Nothing.” Aeryn wipes a stray tear from her eye. “I was choking. On saliva.”

Braca lets out one high-pitched laugh before smothering it in coughs. “I apologize, dominar. I have a lung condition.”

Rygel ignores them. “I need you to venture into the outer planets and convince the Baniks to stop their childish revolts by assuring them that no one—no one—is coming to liberate them.”

“Yeah.” John leans back in his seat. “About that, Ryg...”


End file.
